


Catching Up Online

by ZilyLei



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akira lives with Yusuke and Madarame, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hacker Akira, Phantom Thieves of not thinking things through, Self-Doubt, Warning for all of Madarame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 53,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZilyLei/pseuds/ZilyLei
Summary: When he’d hacked Kaneshiro’s server for clues, this is not what he’d expected to find.Panicked, Akira flips through the rest of the photos in Kaneshiro’s special file. He checks the recent debt folder. Goes back to the photos. This is not a folder for processing.It’s a folder specifically for Yusuke and his friends. Why does a yakuza boss have photos of his brother as blackmail? Why is he listed for a three million yen debt due in weeks?
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke & Kurusu Akira, Kurusu Akira & Madarame Ichiryusai, Kurusu Akira & Sakura Futaba, Kurusu Akira & Sakura Sojiro
Comments: 257
Kudos: 460





	1. Moving In

Akira glares balefully at the badly-dressed man as he smiles graciously at the suits who’d dropped him off. He’s faking it. It’s painfully obvious, and painfully annoying.

He’s eleven, and his mother just died, and here he is being made to move in with the man who paid his father to ruin people’s lives.

“Thank you so much for helping the poor boy here. I’m sure he’s had a tough time. I’ll take good care of him. His parents were good people.” Akira almost scoffs out loud, but settles for doing it in his head. Madarame hardly knew his parents. He probably didn’t even know their names.

He waits until the door is closed, and they’re alone. Madarame turns to him, still smiling that fake smile. He opens his mouth to talk, but Akira beats him to it.

“You’re a fraud.” It’s a word he learned very early into his internet adventures, but he learned it because of the man in front of him. Madarame blinks, raising his eyebrows in an unbelieving way that Akira’s seen too many times from his parents, and tries to say something. Akira cuts him off again.

“I’ve seen it all. You steal your students’ paintings and say they’re yours. You pay people to make it so the other artists aren’t as popular. Your students hate you and you hurt them.” He’d seen much more online, where he’d found it all, but those were the most important things. “You pay people to ruin other people’s art.”

His father had done that for Madarame, a curator for an art museum who ruined other people’s paintings for the new car that had sat in their driveway for a month before he died.

Madarame has given up the fake smile to furrow his eyebrows darkly. Good, Akira thinks.

“Did your father tell you that, boy? People never know when to shut up.” He shakes his head meanly, and Akira shakes his head right back.

“You’re a terrible person. I didn’t need my dad to tell me that.” Then he adds, because he’s been planning this ever since he heard the news, “I’m not going to stay with you.”

He’s not going to stay with the man that has hurt so many people just to get more money.

Madarame starts laughing suddenly, stopping Akira in his tracks. “Didn’t you hear me!? I’m not going to stay with you!” What was wrong with him? Why was he laughing? Akira’s face flushes hot with confusion as his face scrunches up.

“Boy, I wish I could get rid of you. You’re not a student of mine and you’re useless to me. But out of the goodness of my heart—”

“You don’t have any goodness!”

“—Out of the goodness of my heart, I have decided to allow you to stay with me.”

“I’m not staying with you!”

“Oh you are, Akira-kun,” and Akira recoils at the way he says his name, too familiar, too mocking, too harsh, like Madarame just grabbed him by the collar and picked him up. “You are here because it is your parents’ final wish, and because the government has honoured that wish. And now, you can’t leave.” There’s a growing feeling of understanding in him, and Akira doesn’t like it. He wants to run away from this man, but his feet won’t move.

“Legally, you have to stay here until I either agree to send you somewhere else, or until you turn eighteen. If you try to leave before then, the police will bring you back. Do you understand?” Akira swallows. It hurts.

“Send me back then!”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t. You see, I couldn’t bear to trust anyone else with your safety, after all. And the government would never let me send to you to a facility when you could just stay here.”

“Then—then—but—”

“Oh, stop whining. It’s useless. Now grab your bags and come with me.” Madarame turns and starts climbing a staircase, not turning back as Akira’s whole world collapses. His knees are shaking. His hands have forgotten how to form fists. His eyes have narrowed in on the terrible, horrible man he’s supposed to spend the next seven years of his life with, and he’s not really sure if he wants to exist anymore.

His mother has been gone for months, his father for years, but it feels like he’s just lost them all over again.

“Akira! Hurry up!” Akira fuzzily watches Madarame storm back down the steps and reach out to him. He’s never looked this tall in photos. Maybe he’s gotten taller since then? He looms stories over him, and Akira jerks back away from him, stumbling.

Madarame scowls, and the room gets darker, but the lights are still on.

“Boy. I am in charge of you now. I decide when you eat, where you sleep, and what you get to do. You have no choice. You will listen to me, or you will suffer the consequences. Do you understand?”

Akira doesn’t want to stay here.

“Yes.”

Akira’s not sure what’s happening, but there are too many flashing lights and too much shouting. The only thing keeping him from slipping away like he usually had at his dad’s events is the heavy hand on his shoulder. Madarame’s pushing him into the ground and holding him there, grinning his fake smile at the lights like someone had just told him he was getting a hundred thousand yen for free.

“Madarame-san, why did you decide to take in another child, alongside all of your many students?”

Oh, they’re reporters. They’re all wearing suits like the men that had come to take him to Madarame’s, too. But why did they need so many photos? Akira’s just standing here.

Why is Akira here?

“Ah, I must admit that while it was a difficult decision to make, considering all of the other children that need my guidance, I couldn’t just leave the poor boy. His late parents trusted that I would take care of him, and I owe them that much.”

“Is Kurusu-kun going to become a student of yours?”

“I’m afraid not; it seems as if he isn’t the artistic type. However, he is still a young boy that needs help, and I will fulfill that to the best of my abilities.” Akira doesn’t want to be here. The lights are still flashing, and they hurt his eyes. He never wanted to go to Madarame’s in the first place. He can get help somewhere else. But Madarame’s hand is holding him down, and he can’t move.

“How long will Kurusu-kun be staying with you?”

Why won’t Madarame let him go? He wants to leave. He doesn’t like being here, it’s crowded and scary and too bright and too dark. He’s tired and thirsty and bored when he’s not scared. He tries to squirm away from Madarame’s grip.

Madarame’s hand pushes down harder until it hurts, and Akira stops.

“Until he is legally an adult, of course.”

Akira wants to scream.


	2. The Rest of Your Life

Akira pokes angrily down at his keyboard, face scrunched up to the point where it hurts and stomach growling. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t any good at art! Why did Madarame expect him to be when he’d told him he wasn’t?

It had taken five failed paintings before Madarame had sent him to his small, empty room without dinner so that Akira could finally go back to his laptop.

Akira huffs. No one was believing him about being forced to stay with Madarame on the forums, no matter what he said. Although, Akira was usually the first person to believe any of the other students’ stories anyways, so he wasn’t too surprised. But it’s one less thing to do. And then Madarame hadn’t done anything too public lately that Akira could investigate and figure out who he bribed and how he got away with it, like he usually did.

He’d gotten bored, okay?

He’d been planning to try hacking this one website for weeks. Nothing special, but the security was just enough of a challenge for him that he was excited to try it. He’d thought maybe beating this would make him feel better.

Coding makes sense. Commands only go together how they’re supposed to, and you can’t cheat. You can work with the pieces to make something new or old or whatever you want. You could make new pieces. But you can’t get rid of the old ones, and everything stays together until you change it. You have control. As soon as he could reach the keyboard of his mother’s desktop computer, he was trying to figure it out; it led to both discovering Madarame’s fraud and, really, discovering the meaning of life.

Coding is fun, and that’s why he’s surviving right now.

After an hour, he’s pretty sure he’s got it. A couple more keyboard clicks and... he’s in.

Full editing privileges. Awesome. Akira lets a full-blown grin across his face for the first time in what feels like years. He could do this.

He replaces the website’s background and deletes random letters in the menu titles to make it look funny. He doesn’t want to hurt this website’s income, but maybe he could brighten up someone’s day. And it is super satisfying. It’s the first time he’s felt really happy in a while. As long as he has coding and this simple hacking, maybe he could manage with all of this.

“What are you doing!?”

Akira freezes.

No, not him. Not now. He hadn’t even heard him come in.

All happiness drains out of him faster than Madarame had thrown his attempted paintings in the trash earlier that day. Akira looks behind him with wide, scared eyes. His mouth won’t open.

Madarame always seems to loom over him.

The huge, terrible, horrible man he’s been made to live with looks back over to his laptop screen, bright and colourful with evidence of computer hacking, and his frown leaves his face for a thoughtful look to come over him.

“You can do that?” Akira finally does something in the form of scrambling away from his precious computer, out of Madarame’s tall shadow, arms shaking. His mouth still won’t move. Madarame nearly _grins_.

“I guess you might have some use after all, boy.”

“Ah, Natsuhiko! Come meet Akira here!” Akira’s too busy looking around the building he and Madarame have just entered to care about anything the old man is saying. On the outside, it’s a box made of that wavy sheet metal, all of it rusted and looking like one of those kids’ building sets that was put together wrong. He hadn’t even known it was a house until they went inside.

He’s not so sure about the inside either. It’s still rusty in places, and it looks really cold. And there’s paint everywhere. And random dents in the walls. His parents would have been horrified at the sight of this place. Although maybe his father might have called it modern art.

“Sensei...?”

This is probably that shack those students mentioned that Madarame makes them live in ‘for the sake of art’. Akira’s still not sure what that means, but it sounds dumb. They always have a lot to say about it when he talks to them on the forums.

It really doesn’t look like people should be living in it.

“Akira.” Akira flinches and looks up just in time to see a man narrow his eyes down at him. When Akira looks up at Madarame, he’s smiling. It’s not fake, but Akira still doesn’t like the look on him.

“This is Natsuhiko. He’s a student of mine that lives here.” Akira’s about to say something about the building and maybe about how Madarame steals his students’ work, but then Madarame squeezes the hand on his shoulder and he decides not to.

That hand has been on his shoulder since they got out of the old car they drove here in.

Akira bows to Natsuhiko in greeting, and Natsuhiko greets him back. He smiles a fake smile down at Akira. It’s different from Madarame’s.

“Akira’s going to be staying here, but he won’t be learning from me. You won’t be losing any of my attention, don’t worry.” Natsuhiko turns his fake smile onto Madarame, who’s chuckling like Natsuhiko just did something ‘cute’. Akira’s gotten that way too much.

“A ward, right?” Akira scowls at that word. Ward. They started calling him that at the press conference and wouldn’t stop. It meant he belonged to Madarame. It’s not a word anyone should like.

“Oh, Yusuke! Right on time. Come here!” Akira turns to see where Madarame and Natsuhiko are looking and sees a boy his age sticking his head into the hallway. Isn’t he a little young to be living here without his parents? Akira would have hated it. He does hate it.

“Sensei? Who is this?” Yusuke runs up to them and quickly greets Akira. Akira, still wondering about the blue haired boy, automatically returns the gesture. Yusuke’s already looking up at Madarame, though, ignoring even Natsuhiko.

“This is Akira. He’ll be living here from now on. Akira, this is my ward, Yusuke.”

Oh.

“Sensei, will he be learning from you as well?” Yusuke looks at Madarame like the girls in Akira’s old class looked at sweets in the bakery display.

Natsuhiko looks at Madarame like his mother looked at food she didn’t like but had to eat because his father’s friends were there.

Why would anyone want to be Madarame’s ward?

“No, he’s not very interested in the arts, unfortunately. Now, Akira, I’ll show you where your room is later. For now, why don’t you and Yusuke go talk?” Natsuhiko has disappeared to somewhere else while Akira wasn’t looking. Madarame’s looking at him expectantly, and Akira knows when adults want him to leave so they can work. He goes.

Akira follows Yusuke to a room that looks surprisingly empty, even though there are paintings and canvases everywhere. There are paint cans on the bed, jars of paintbrushes on the bedside table, and who knows what all over the floor. Yusuke sits on the floor in front of a canvas on a wood thing, and Akira kind of kicks away some empty looking tubes to sit beside him.

“I was in the middle of this before, so I hope you don’t mind if I continue it.” Akira shakes his head, but Yusuke is already looking very closely at his paints, so Akira says it out loud.

“Ah. Good.” Akira waits for more, but it sounds like that’s it. Akira looks around and wonders if the roof drips water when it rains, like in the movies.

“...So how long have you been staying with Madarame?” It takes a few seconds before Yusuke hums.

“I can’t really remember. Sensei says he took me in when my mother, who was also his student, passed away.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Yusuke doesn’t seem to hear him. “Is staying with Madarame fun?”

“Of course!” He finally looks away from his canvas with the same look he was giving Madarame before, and Akira still hates it. “He teaches me so much about art every day. He even painted the Sayuri!” His brush waves in the air, somehow not flinging paint everywhere.

“Sayuri...?” Yusuke gasps. Akira feels like he’s missing something.

“It’s the best painting ever! You haven’t seen it!?” He’s not sure how someone can get this excited over a painting, but Yusuke has been different in many ways so far.

“Uh, I might have...? Maybe I just didn’t remember the name.”

“Well, it’s a beautiful woman, smiling down at something. Whatever she’s looking at is covered over in a fog. Sensei says the mystery is what makes it beautiful, but I think it’s beautiful no matter what!” Yusuke says beautiful a lot, Akira’s noticed.

“Hm, no... doesn’t sound familiar.”

“I’ll have to show you!” Yusuke’s smiling big now, and Akira can’t help smiling back. The awkwardness is gone now, even if he’s in a scary metal box, sitting on the floor surrounded by art supplies. Then Yusuke’s face falls. “After I finish this, of course.”

For the first time, Akira leans over to look at the canvas.

“Woah, that’s really good.” Yusuke smiles again.

“Thank you! I’m not very good yet, but Sensei says I’m getting better. If I finish this soon enough, Sensei says he might put it in his next show!” Akira has to fight to keep his smile on his face. Madarame is already using Yusuke’s paintings in his shows?

“Oh, does he uh, do that often?”

“No, this will be the first one!”

“You know, he’s not gonna... He’s going to say that he painted it, not you, you know?” Maybe he can break it to him nicely. Or maybe he already knows.

“Well, of course he will! Sensei’s always saying that I’m going to need exposure before anyone will look at my own art, so if he puts it under his name then more people will see it!” He doesn’t know.

Akira wants to feel sad for Yusuke, who’s grown up with this terrible, horrible man who stole people’s lives just because he wanted to. But the truth is, he doesn’t feel much of anything. Except for, maybe, a little bit of fear.

He’s talked to many of Madarame’s students before. They all talk the same way. Adults all kind of talk the same, but Madarame’s students are different in a bad way. Akira wonders if Yusuke will become like them.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Madarame will—”

“Ah, Akira-kun. I see you and Yusuke-kun have gotten along well. I’ll show you your room now.” Akira doesn’t dare turn back to Yusuke, but he sees him from the corner of his eye as he looks up in confusion over the change in formality.

“Work hard on your painting, Yusuke.”

All confusion on his face disappears, and Yusuke grins again.

“Of course!”


	3. Earning Your Keep

Even after only two weeks inside Madarame’s pile of rust they’re forced to call a building, Akira hates it here.

Sure, Natsuhiko and Yusuke are nice enough, and here they draw away a lot of Madarame’s attention. But he’s not allowed to do anything that Madarame doesn’t tell him to do. He can’t work on game modules on his laptop or make apps or even do homework when he’s not allowed to. Madarame buys him a faster desktop computer, and makes him practice hacking on all these different websites he doesn’t recognize, and only change the things he wants changed. Madarame doesn’t give him a chance to think straight.

He seems really happy when it’s over each day. Akira’s happy when it’s over too, but he knows better than to trust that smile, especially when it’s not fake.

Akira doesn’t like this place.

Whenever he sees Natsuhiko in the halls, the man tries to be nice and wave to him, but his smiles are always fake. Yusuke hardly remembers to look at him, always busy with his paintings. It doesn’t make sense that the younger one of the two seems to be working so much harder, but then again, it’s obvious that Yusuke is the only one in the house that doesn’t know.

The entire drafty, metal place is full of pretend. He hates it.

It only takes some stolen free time and a finally clear head to look at all the websites he’s been hacking and realize just what Madarame’s been making him do. His eyes are wide and he’s just about to get up and yell at Madarame for it when the door slams open.

“Akira. Are you done your homework like I told you to?” Enraged, Akira turns towards the door.

“YOU—” Madarame towers over him, dark and terrifying and loud even though he doesn’t say a word. Akira shrinks back. “—m-made me—you made me hack your c-competitors—”

Madarame raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“I did. That’s your job now. Your responsibility is to ensure that I gain popularity over my competitors. Do you understand?” Akira doesn’t say anything, but Madarame continues. He likes to hear himself talk when he’s pretending to be nice. “I’m letting you stay here, after all. If I don’t keep my popularity up, how else will I pay for your food?”

It’s a threat he’s familiar with now. Even if he misses a meal, he can still do what Madarame wants him to do. It’ll just hurt more. He’s learnt that everything gets done eventually, it just depends on how much it sucks until then.

“...I don’t know how to do that.”

“You’re going to have to learn. I’ll teach you, of course, but Yusuke and Natsuhiko never need so much direction. You’d better learn fast.”

Madarame shows him the personal websites of all his competitors, the museums he likes best for ‘his’ art to be displayed, as well as the twitter accounts of other popular artists that he couldn’t care less about.

“It’s all good presentation,” he says, “If you show the best pieces on your website, then people will want to see more, even if they aren’t as good. If you are displayed in places with a good reputation, then you get a good reputation.” When he gestures to the social media accounts, he simply says, “This has been getting popular, lately. You already know how to use these, don’t you? Make one representing me.”

He talks, and Akira listens. There are many, many secrets to looking good and talking to people just the right way to get them interested in your work.

He leans over him the whole time, like Akira’s seen him do many times with Yusuke. With him, it looks like it’s supposed to be fatherly or teacherly, but instead looks like a stock photo. With Akira, it just feels suffocating. He can barely breathe.

When Madarame decides that he’s spent enough time with Akira for the day, he leans back and leaves with a reminder to do his work. The door shuts firmly, sounding like the prison cells on the TV back when Akira had had one back home.

Akira breathes deeply for the first time in hours. He discovers he can move again. His hands shake on his knees.

It’s the same as every day before it, except now he knows that what he’s doing is wrong.

He could imagine his father standing above him like that, teaching and talking about his job in a way that Akira can actually understand and use for once. If he’d stopped constantly running around for his job and chasing after Madarame’s money back then, it might have happened.

If it had been his father, Akira thinks he might have liked learning.

Akira’s twelfth birthday passes without a word. The days keep going as usual, as if nothing ever happened.

Two days after Akira’s birthday, Madarame stalks into his room.

It’s the same as every other day, but somehow today feels different.

“I’ve found a new website for you to try,” he says.

The new website is one he hasn’t heard of before. The design of the site itself says it’s professional but not very big, and Akira looks for a description nervously.

“Th-this is a bank!”

“Yes, it is. Now hurry up and get in, you know the drill.”

“Why am I hacking into a bank!? That’s even more illegal than everything else!”

“Akira. Shut up and do what I tell you to do.” Akira gets in. Madarame gives him a name, and Akira finds the account. “I want you to take ten thousand yen from that account, and transfer it into mine.”

“B-but you don’t have an account with this bank.”

“So? Do it.” Madarame isn’t looking at the screen, but he still clamps a hand down on Akira’s shoulder. It makes it hard to move his arms and to type.

He scrambles to set up the transfer, hacking into the second account with a larger, much more secure bank. He’s never done something this big before. He’s hacking a bank. He’s a criminal now.

It’s a long process, Akira having never practiced with a server with so much security, shaking under Madarame’s large hand. When he finally makes it in, he chokes on his breath of relief.

“Th-there’s... nothing here.”

“What!?” Akira nearly falls over as Madarame leans heavily on his shoulder to look at the screen, “I know this is his only account! What do you mean there’s nothing!?”

There’s nothing. The bank account is empty, records of a ‘withdrawal’ only days ago. Whoever owns this account has a lot of debt, from what Akira can tell. He needs all the money he can get.

“Take it out anyways!” Madarame is shouting, but even Akira knows that’s not possible. Taking money and making debt are two different things. Madarame is furious. Akira is frozen.

Suddenly, an alert pops up, and a small entry appears at the top of the page. Akira reads it first, but Madarame realizes it first.

“Well, there you go!” Suddenly talking normally again, he waves at the screen, “Just in time.”

There’s an entry for a deposit of 12840 yen, no doubt soon to go into paying off the man’s debts. Without ten thousand of it, it’s not a lot of money.

“But...” That’s all that man has left.

“What did I say!? Do it, Akira.” Akira looks up. It’s a mistake.

Madarame is a tall shadow over him. His hand presses down hard.

Akira can’t feel his hands.

He makes the transfer.

He can barely think as he makes his way back out of each account, closing the windows and shutting the computer off with a final click. He sits there, waiting for Madarame to speak.

“There, see? It wasn’t that hard. You’ll be doing this more often now. It’s a good source of money.” When Madarame turns to leave, Akira hears him mutter, “...Little cash cow...”

He goes cold.

In the next moment, Akira’s chair goes crashing to the floor as he dashes through the doorway, Madarame yelling behind him. His footsteps echo as he runs, making his knees even weaker than they already were. He doesn’t know where he’s going.

“Here, in here. In here, Akira.” There are nicer hands on him and still he flinches, but they’re pushing him into a small dark room and it’s not like he can see anymore anyway. He hugs his knees tight as the sliver of light disappears with a thud, trying to breathe but trying not to breathe too loud.

He’s listened to his father and his friends enough to know what ‘cash cow’ means. They always laugh mean and loud when they call something that. It’s not a good thing.

But he’d just done what Madarame had told him to do, and he’d just ruined a life. That man needed all the money he could get, and Akira had taken it from him. He’d done exactly what he’d always hated Madarame and his father for doing. He isn’t good.

He’s going to have to do it again. Ruin more lives, listen to Madarame over and over again.

His forehead presses into his knees, and it hurts, but not as much as everything else does.

Yusuke finds him, after what feels like hours. Akira blinks at the light, but doesn’t move.

“Why are you in here?” He asks.

“Hmm.” Akira says. He still can’t feel his arms. It’s cold.

“I heard yelling earlier...” Yusuke wonders, looking back out into the hallway, “Oh! Did Sensei say you did something wrong?” He blinks curious eyes.

“Mm.”

“Well, don’t worry then. I get upset sometimes too. It’s okay though, because he always means the best for us!” With that, Yusuke skips off.

“Mm.” Akira says, too late. Oh, he can feel his face again. He’s not sure why it feels like he wants to cry.


	4. Enter Stage Left

When Akira is sixteen, the world starts turning again.

“And they wouldn’t stop asking about the rumours! I couldn’t get anything done!” When Yusuke had come into his room the other day concerned about other teenagers asking things about Madarame that they shouldn’t know, Akira had thought that was the end of it. But then the kids his brother complained about came back. Again. And asked. Again.

If Akira genuinely cared for his guardian’s reputation, he might have worried. But since Madarame could probably slap a baby and get away with it (thanks to Akira no less), he’d simply sighed and gone through all of their search history and text messages.

With a filter on for Madarame’s name of course, he didn’t invade someone’s privacy for no reason.

The results had been two random instances of Natsuhiko’s name. Akira’s still not sure why Natsuhiko would tell these random high schoolers about Madarame. Especially when they all knew what happened when Reiko had tried telling an actually responsible adult the same.

Nobody talks about Reiko anymore.

But either way, it’s not Akira’s place to do anything about that, really, so he doesn't. Natsuhiko’s decisions are his own.

Akira’s jerked back to the conversation with a wide gesture from Yusuke.

“I lost all creativity! I couldn’t paint anything while they kept talking like that!” Wait, no, Yusuke quotes Madarame when he can’t think straight.

“Yusuke,” He interrupts, “Please tell me you didn’t ask her to model nude.” Yusuke looks uncomfortable. Akira’s face falls. “Yusuke, please.”

“I panicked! Nothing was getting done, and you know I don’t have anything for the upcoming exhibition yet! And they wouldn’t stop talking about how Sensei supposedly did all these terrible things!”

There’s a bit of an awkward pause at that, because it’s obvious to both of them that some of those things are true, and it’s very obvious to Akira that all of those things are true.

It would be obvious to Yusuke, too, but he seems to have forgotten that conversation Akira had had with him back then.

“Okay, but Yusuke, you have to go apologize to her. They were just guessing and you know nobody wants to model nude. Plus she’s a minor. I don’t even know if that’s legal.”

“I will, of course. But perhaps another day, when she’s willing to speak to me again.”

“Yusuke what did you do.”

“...I may have threatened to call security on them.” Akira groans.

“Yusukeeeeee whyyy.”

“I’m sorry!”

_Joker: Baba_

_Joker: Baba there’s a cat picking the lock to the super not secret safe_

“Please stop, Takamaki-san! If we could just get started, please...”

“Ooh, what’s over here?” Akira looks up from another stilted conversation with Futaba (after the initial disbelief over a lockpicking cat) to see Yusuke’s—clothed, thankfully—model on his surveillance screen moving towards the Super-Secret-Not-Secret Safe.

There is, in fact, a cat picking the lock. He’s not sure when or how it got in, but it’s doing a pretty good job. Although that tacky padlock had always been easy to pick.

“Takamaki-san! That’s—we’re not permitted—”

“Oh, it’s fine. What’s this? Looks fancy!” Alright. Time to go run damage control.

Akira hauls himself out of his chair to go stop Yusuke and his model from discovering the old man’s secrets but stops halfway after spotting motion on another camera. Speak of the devil. Akira flops back into his chair, returns to his depressingly awkward conversation, and casually continues his damage control from his room. It’ll be better this way. And maybe Yusuke will finally listen to fraudulent implications if they come from the man himself. Yusuke would trust Madarame more than Akira, after all.

From the camera Akira’s watching, Madarame comes storming in to see his prized student slash source of merchandise and a random teenaged girl ogling his counterfeiting operation. When they move into the room itself, Akira can’t see anything because Madarame is insecure about his criminal tendencies and forbid any cameras there, so he sits back and waits.

The audio is glorious though. Madarame shouts to the world that he’s been counterfeiting one of Japan’s most famous paintings to the boy he’s been trying most to hide it from. Then he says no, I don’t trust you, the boy I’ve practically raised for his entire life, to keep this secret, so I’m going to call the police. Amazing.

At least Yusuke sounds like he believes it this time.

Akira can’t tell what happens next but it ends with Madarame stalking back from the still unlocked safe room muttering about calling the private security company he totally doesn’t have the money to afford. Yusuke is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Takamaki Ann or the talented cat from before.

Akira leans back in his chair to look out his open door.

“What happened?” Madarame whips around to face him, and Akira very carefully does not flinch.

“You! Are you behind this!?”

“Behind what?”

“Did you show them!?” 

“Show them what?”

“Well, did you!?” Akira’s tempted to just ask ‘did I what?’ and keep the game going for, oh, another hour or so, but he has homework that’s more important than his guardian’s reputation and livelihood so he wants to get this done soon.

“...I’m assuming you think I showed them your secret room. I didn’t. I didn’t know anything was happening until you started shouting.” Madarame growls and stomps into Akira’s room. 

“Show me the tapes.” Akira gladly turns the monitor towards the old man, rewinding. Madarame watches intensely, staring at the inactive lock hanging on the door and waiting for the culprit to come unlock it. It’s fun to watch his face when the lock seemingly unlocks itself and falls to the floor with a clatter.

“What happened!?” Akira lets out a similar grunt of surprise for appearances. He definitely hadn't edited the cat out. Not at all.

“...Do you think it was faulty?” Instead of answering, Madarame pulls out his phone and stomps back out. Moments later there can be heard a rather loud conversation about the effectiveness of custom locks. Akira lets his eyebrows raise in amusement. It’s been a while since the old man had hit that volume. The walls shake.

Ten minutes later, Madarame comes back in.

“They’ll be here in three hours. Make sure to have the footage ready.”

He leaves again, off to go commit more fraud or something, Akira doesn’t know. He sends the man a little salute once he’s turned the corner. Aye aye, cap’n.

Akira can tell when Yusuke comes back out of wherever he disappeared off to because that’s when Madarame remembers that he’s supposed to be spitting mad. He doesn’t even need the cameras and microphones; he can hear it from the second floor with his door closed.

Though it is strange that Yusuke’s coming in through the front when he never saw him leave the building.

Security has already come and gone, equally baffled by the lock. Yusuke’s lucky to have missed them. In the state that Madarame had been in, he might have thrown Akira’s brother under the bus.

Akira throws open his door and braces himself.

“—Next time you do I’m turning you in, got that!? Invasion of private property, false accusations—” Akira rolls his eyes as he presses play.

_“Alright, I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve been making forgeries of the Sayuri and selling them.”_ Rings out loud into the air, freezing the footsteps he hears outside in their tracks. Akira barrels on before he can stop himself.

“So security asked for the footage, and I can only send it in full-day packages,” Akira drawls as the confession keeps blaring out into the hall. There are ways around that, obviously, but Madarame has never cared to know before and he’s not about to find out, “Do you want me to mute this part before I send it?”

Madarame actually snarls, and that’s how Akira knows he’s in for it. He keeps his smirk frozen on his face throughout the entire tirade, only humming when Madarame pretends he wants a response.

Yusuke gives him a grateful look before slinking off to his own room, and that’s really all Akira needs.

Later, after the old man has tired himself out and gone to bed, Akira sneaks out of his dark and impersonal room and into Yusuke’s dark and impersonal room. His brother’s is more cluttered of course, and Akira has to take special care not to trip. He’s become a master at it by now.

“What happened?” He asks.

It’s the same question he asked Madarame earlier, but this time he actually cares about the answer.

“You seem to already know.” Says Yusuke.

“But after that?”

His brother’s silhouette pauses for a moment, uncertain.

“Nothing to worry about.”

It tells him about as much as Madarame’s reply had, but for some reason this time hurts more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but please tell me if there's something I need to tag or warn at the beginning of a chapter. I'm not an expert at identifying what needs to be mentioned.


	5. So You Were Right

“Yusuke?” Akira stands in the doorway until Yusuke waves him in. They’d had an incident with open paint cans right in front of the door once.

“Ah, Akira-kun. How are you?” Yusuke hasn’t stopped painting since Akira has come in and it’s incredibly normal for what he has finally resolved himself to do. Finding a space next to his brother in all but blood, he gingerly clears away paint bottles and sits.

“I’ve got something I want to show you. Are you free right now?” And of course, for Yusuke, this meant ‘painting’ instead of ‘shackled to the canvas’. They were going to enter Kosei next year, and Madarame wanted Yusuke to make a good impression with his qualification paintings.

“Yes, of course. What is it?” His paintbrush doesn’t stop moving. It helps. He opens up his laptop.

“Do you remember when the artist that was supposed to be sharing Madarame’s exhibit last week suddenly canceled?” Akira starts. He waits for a hum of acknowledgement, and then he talks and doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t look up at Yusuke, he’s not brave enough or stupid enough to think that he’d be able to keep talking if he saw his brother’s face as he completely changed his worldview. He keeps his eyes fixed on his laptop’s screen as he rifles through the different websites he’s hacked over the years and explains that half of Madarame’s popularity and wealth has come from Akira, that Yusuke’s teacher and father figure is nothing but a fraud that’s been using them both. He stares at one of his legal guardian’s secret bank accounts as he speaks, tiredly, of the amount of times he’s added to it personally, taking from competing artists and depositing the money into a greedy man’s worthless hands.

When he finally runs out of words, he sits there, waiting. He’s never been sure what kind of reaction Yusuke would have, but he’s always known that the boy would be heartbroken to know that—

“Akira-kun, what on earth are you talking about?” Akira goes numb. “That’s incredibly disrespectful, to talk about Sensei that way.” There’s no way, right? There’s too much proof. But Yusuke had always been so _stupidly_ infatuated with— “Why would you lie like that? Of course Sensei would never do anything so terrible. It’s truly disappointing that he can’t paint himself right now, but surely he won’t need too many of my pieces. It’s only briefly." He finally looks up, and there is only vague confusion there on his brother’s face.

Akira is no longer numb, but he is so, so cold.

“Yusuke? You-you can’t, he has a second house, a mansion, that’s why he’s always gone! He’s always taken your paintings, it’s been years, there’s no way it’s ‘just briefly’!”

“Akira, stop it. I don’t see how you thought this would be funny.”

“I’m not lying! Why—”

“Akira.” It’s the first time he’s ever heard Yusuke sound anything close to unyielding, and oh how he’s wished to hear his brother talk like that to Madarame. But instead it’s over _this_. “Stop.”

“I—” Akira’s mouth slowly closes in time with the growing pulse of despair inside his heart, and like the coward he’s always been, he looks back down. “Right. Sorry.”

He gets up, hugging his laptop to his chest only as an afterthought when he almost drops it, and picks his way past the minefield of paint tubes and canvases and brothers it turns out he doesn’t actually know all that well. He stops at the door.

“I wasn’t lying,” is all he is able to whisper over his shoulder before he leaves the scene of his greatest failure.

It couldn’t be.

But no, it was, wasn’t it?

_Why would you lie like that, Akira?_

The room around them is the gaudiest thing Yusuke has ever seen, colours clashing and swirling like whoever designed it meant it to be purposefully bad. Discordant brushstrokes are scattered across the walls with no regard for order or even abstract design. The sculpture in the middle of the room at least has some degree of artistry, but even that is tasteless, shining too brightly to appreciate the skill and working against its own surroundings. He remembers some of the insults he’s heard his sensei use for other artists’ works, and wishes he could employ them now.

He registers this all vaguely however, focused as he is on the glowing disaster in front of him. His sensei, horrendously painted face and glaring golden robes, is still talking, upending his worldview, telling him that his whole life up until this point has been a lie. He can scarcely believe it even now.

His kind teachings and humble art shows, an act? Living in another, better home, much better off? 

_Yusuke? You can’t, he has a second house, a mansion, that’s why he’s always gone!_

But he could.

_It’s all fake, Yusuke._

“How does this sound? ‘I found the real painting, but it can’t go public. You can have it for a special price, though…’ Hah, how’s that!? Art snobs eat it up, and for good cash at that!” Yusuke can remember, distantly, another time when he’d heard similar stories. He hadn’t thought it important to remember back then.

_He even makes counterfeits, Yusuke. Of… some of the paintings. They sell for a very high price._

It had been broken to him more gently, that time.

“The world of art is purely subjective, and thus, this is a legitimate business transaction! A brat like you would never understand. Art is nothing but a tool. A tool to gain money and fame!” And for Madarame, he supposes it is. Even though art should be for beauty, emotion, something simply to be appreciated... 

_He always wants more. Money, popularity... it’s never enough._

It’s pitiful. It’s repulsive.

This man in front of him, simply a shadow of his real self or not, does not deserve to continue in the way that he has been. There were those that believed him a true master artist, respected him, looked up to him. He is a fraud in all senses of the word. But then Madarame keeps talking.

“You helped me greatly as well, Yusuke. My wonderful little cash cow.” The term hits him in the face with all the grace of a door slamming shut and locking him in until he finishes his paintings.

Is ‘cash cow’ really the only way his mentor has ever seen him?

Yusuke can see now that the Phantom Thieves were right when they said that the building reflects the owner. Madarame’s spirit is despicably _ugly_.

“I’ll tell you this now, Yusuke. If you wish to ever succeed, don’t rise against me. My reputation holds more weight than any art you could ever produce.” Madarame is still smirking, and for once, _now_ , Yusuke is tired of it.

“Soon, Madarame, you will have no weighty reputation.” Yusuke has never seen his sensei’s face change so abruptly, nor so severely, but then that hadn’t really been his sensei, had it? Madarame looks even more incensed than he had been smug earlier. Some part of Yusuke (likely the part influenced by Akira) notes that that is quite the feat.

“You ungrateful brat! I spent years paying endlessly for your food and supplies, teaching you to paint and become decent! Paying for your expensive schooling! You think I took you in out of the goodness of my heart!? You owe me!”

_He has so much money. I’ve made sure of that._

“Then why did you choose to take in children? You taught them, they called you ‘father’,” Yusuke had called him father, “All for you to complain that they took too long to teach?”

“Oh please. It’s true that using,” and that’s what Yusuke had been. Used, “talented yet troubled artists as pupils allows me to take their ideas and work, but it’s also so much _easier_ to steal the futures of children!”

The grimy old man in front of him smirks again, this time somehow even more depraved than before. His eyes widen madly at Yusuke’s own appalled expression.

“Livestock are killed for their hide and meat! This is no different!” And Yusuke’s heart twists like the man in front of him is twisted, and it breaks. This man... is not who he had spent his life thinking he was. Who he had called father, and sensei, and defended with his whole being even when there was all the proof that Madarame was a terrible, horrible man.

_I’m not lying! Why—_

_Akira. Stop._

Yusuke doesn’t remember many of Madarame’s other students well, as they had left when he was still young. But he remembers Natsuhiko, and of course he remembers Akira. It’s obvious now, that they had known all of this. And he wonders how they felt, day by day, living in the same run-down building as a man that considered them his personal livestock, free to butcher and skin as he pleased.

He wonders if it felt as terrible as he does now.

“I’ve been blind for so long. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true. How many dreams have you trampled? How many people have you dismantled, slaughtered, turned into money!?” The Phantom Thieves around him remind him that they are there with a chorus of astonished murmurs. There’s no need to be shocked at Yusuke’s turn of phrase when he’d simply taken it from the cruel man in front of them all, however. “No matter what it takes... I will bring you to justice!”

For all those featureless faces that he can now see distorted in distress, for Natsuhiko. For Akira.

He doesn’t think much after that, blurry from pain and rage, but he’s sure that it’s magnificent.

After everything, fighting and falling and fleeing, Yusuke sits with the rest of the Phantom Thieves.

He realizes, now, that Madarame hadn’t made one mention of Akira. They’d all been speaking in general terms about the people he’d taken advantage of, and most of those people had been his students. Like Yusuke. Akira was an outlier, mere happenstance that had become convenient to his former sensei.

That shadow version of Madarame had been painfully blunt and detailed and cruel about everything Yusuke had asked about. He’s sure that if he had asked, the man would have told him anything.

Yusuke thinks about little cash cows and livestock prepared for the slaughter. He decides that, even if he could go back and find the shadow again, he wouldn’t ask.


	6. Caught in the Act

Akira doesn’t make much noise coming up the creaky stairs in Madarame’s shack. He never does, but this time he’s vibrating with enough nervous energy to make up for it. Madarame hasn’t come out of his room for days, not for anything. Unless he pulled a teleportation device out of his pocket or climbed out the window like Yusuke must have, he’s still in there. Akira’s been leaving food outside the door for the last few days out of obligation, but it hasn’t been touched.

Yusuke’s been out regularly, not returning to the shack until late, which is not unusual. He tends to stay in the studios for a while after school—it’s the understatement of the century that he gets excited about painting. But now, Akira can’t find him at school at all after hours.

It’s not normal, for either of them.

Today, Akira’s resolved to solve the mystery. After sparing a single glance towards Madarame’s room and determining that nothing was going to jump him, he goes to his room. His bag barely makes it to the floor before he’s tapping away, opening up the facial recognition software he’d half-stolen, half-made. Putting Yusuke in is easy, and within minutes he has him pegged at Shibuya’s accessway.

Sure, okay. Yusuke likes to people watch. But when Akira opens up the live footage, he sees his brother surrounded by other teens, the ones Yusuke had been complaining about before, talking amicably to him. They’re in Shujin uniforms, which Akira knows well because it’s practically his job to watch the news.

They’re all wearing the same serious expression. Judging from Akira’s experience with Yusuke, it means they’re about to go do something stupid.

And they do. In a way. If you count _casually disappearing into thin air in a crowded public area known to have camera surveillance_ as stupid.

Akira considers that very much stupid. Are they _trying_ to get arrested?

He’s not dumb. He checks, thoroughly, for any sort of video alteration. None. There is absolutely no sign of any tampering done to the footage or camera, and no matter how good you are, it’s impossible to hide that something’s been changed. There isn’t, possibly, some sort of hologram projection there. He can’t find anything else in that area connected to the local system, and also those types of holograms don’t exist yet.

This is real. He doesn’t know how. He’s not sure if he wants to know how. All he knows is that Yusuke’s being an idiot while he’s doing it.

...So _that’s_ how he got outside without anyone noticing.

But did none of them think about how someone other than Akira might react to the ability to disappear, or teleport, or whatever magic that had been? Apart from suspected criminal activities, people would _want_ that. It is not safe to be doing that there.

Why, Yusuke? Akira almost wants to go over there or wherever Yusuke is when he comes back to the third dimension and—

But no, Yusuke’s decisions are his own. He has to remember that. Yusuke isn’t obligated to believe him or listen to what he says, and honestly it isn’t Akira’s friends that are in danger. Besides, if Akira tells him all that and Yusuke refuses, then they’re all worse off. Better not to.

Instead, Akira sets to work looping Yusuke and his friends, so it seems like they’ve always been there and never decided to pop out for a cup of tea or something. He really hopes they show up in the same spot eventually or Akira won’t be able to patch it up all the way. He can’t hide the fact that they all came from different directions, through the view of several cameras each, to get to this spot. And he can’t fake that they left, either.

Akira blinks and checks back to other days on the same camera. They’re there again. Sometimes they leave without disappearing or, rarely, don’t show up at all, but sometimes they perform the same vanishing act as before. After sparing a moment for incredulity because _how obvious can you get_ , if he goes to the time of day that Yusuke would have left the accessway judged by when he got home...

They’re there. As Akira watches, they reappear right where they’d initially disappeared, albeit in slightly different positions. Alright, he can work with that. Since they’re wearing the same clothes everyday too, he can just splice in footage from different days so the looping doesn’t look weird as the hours go on.

Which helps, because they’re also next to giant windows, making accurate change in lighting nearly impossible to fake without those previous days.

Akira sits back with a sigh. Why did they have to make things so difficult? He’s hidden camera footage for Madarame’s sabotage schemes more times than he can count; it should be easy for him now. But these kids are just doing everything perfectly wrong while they’re potentially committing crimes: the window, the cameras, the same clothes everyday—distinctive, memorable clothes at that, the same open public setting every day, the loud conversation... There’s no microphone, Akira can’t even tell what they’re saying, but it’s obvious from the reactions from passers-by that they’re being loud.

They’re destroying their own alibis, making themselves intensely recognizable, and making it very hard for Akira to fix it. Do they know _nothing_ about—Oh. Right.

Not everyone needs to know how to destroy lives and get away with it like Akira does.

Akira slumps forwards with a huff and gets to work.

Over the next three days, Akira buckles down on covering up Yusuke’s disappearances. He’s still not sure why Yusuke’s doing it, and he means to ask, really, but his brother is never around to ask anymore. Akira has learned from experience that leaving a text or a note for Yusuke doesn’t work, so he waits for him to get back every day, but by then either something has come up or he’s passed out over his keyboard.

There’s a lot going on. Madarame starts coming out of his room again, and will randomly tell Akira to run an investigation on some old rival or another. It’s not hard, he has most of the data squirreled away from before anyway, but it takes time that he doesn’t really have.

And it’s weird. Every time he comes out of his room it’s like he’s tapped into a different emotion. Madarame’s always paranoid about something now, and Akira’s usually the one he blames for that. Akira’s just glad that Yusuke isn’t ever here for it.

As Madarame’s mood swings get worse, the old man gets crazier. A few times he comes stumbling into Akira’s room muttering Yusuke’s name, and Akira has to physically push him back to his room. Another time Akira finds him stalled with the door to his room half-open, hand on the doorknob. He hadn’t gone back inside until Akira had told him that Natsuhiko no longer stayed in the shack, and when he had Madarame had looked genuinely stricken. Probably missing his next painting.

When Akira passes Madarame’s room on his way to his own, sometimes he’ll hear excited murmurs from behind the door. He tries not to listen too hard, because he doesn’t want to think about what it means that the murmurs sound far too much like _I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry_.

Futaba, on the other hand, isn’t doing much better. She goes completely radio silent some days and drops the project that the two of them had been working on together, citing a need for break. Akira hadn’t thought she’d known what a break was, especially with something this important to her.

Akira can tell that she isn’t answering his questions truthfully. Whenever he asks if something is wrong, she deflects, badly, or sometimes doesn’t even answer. He worries that her depression is acting up again, but obviously, his near-sister won’t tell him anything.

Still, Medjed hasn’t made an appearance in a while, so they really need to finish something before more copycats show up—they don’t really bother with getting rid of all of them, but if one of them gets too bad they have to take care of it, and it’s a hassle he wants to avoid. Akira chips away at the rest of the research in between everything else, and is almost done when the Phantom Thieves strike for a second time.

Four days after Akira discovered that his brother was using potentially illegal magic, the Phantom Thieves leave calling cards plastered across the exhibition hall. Madarame is out and about for once, though still out of it and so interrogates the event’s hired surveillance team about the cards instead of Akira. He appreciates the break.

A couple hours later, Madarame is back in his room, cutting off even the rest of his presence at the exhibition. It’s not normal. The old man loves pretending he’s a poor humble artist almost as much as he loves money.

Akira can remember that the Phantom Thieves’ previous victim, Kamoshida, had also dropped off the grid after his calling card had been delivered. When he checks the camera footage again on a hunch, he sees a familiar looking cat doing some very interesting stunts.

“A real cat burglar.” Akira mutters, amused and triumphant.

When Yusuke returns from his little outing quietly, checking Madarame’s closed door before closing himself in his own room, Akira knows.

Out of curiosity, he also goes to check Madarame’s room. Never one for manners when he doesn’t have to be, Akira doesn’t leave it closed. He pushes the door open just a bit and looks into the dark room, squinting to pick out details.

Madarame is a lump on the bed, barely moving.

He’s crying.

Akira closes the door, unnerved.

_Joker: Hey baba_

_Joker: Baba_

_Alibaba: ?_

_Joker: So turns out bro knows/is a phantom thief_

_Alibaba: Phantom thieves rly??_

_Joker: They know nothing about crime_

_Joker: Theyre everywhere on camera its sad_

Now Akira’s spent enough time talking to Futaba to generally predict her responses, so he’s expecting a _‘lol’_ or a _‘disgusting’_ or a meme. So when he gets _‘really?’_ he blinks a few times.

Futaba, spelling out the full word?

_Joker: Yh I checked theyre in shibuya and shujin and madarames place_

_Joker: All on camera_

_Alibaba: So its these guys huh,,_

Akira smirks. It’s just like her to have already found them just from figuring out who Yusuke is by extension of Akira’s name. When he’d told her his real name he’d expected this, but it’s always fun to watch her sleuthing.

_Joker: Yeah_

_Joker: Wanna help me cover these idiots up_

_Alibaba: Ofc_

_Alibaba: Cant get em arrested yet_

_Alibaba: They’ve still got a job to do_

_Joker: ?? what job_

_Alibaba: Nothing_

Akira blinks again, feeling off balance. What job had Futaba been talking about? He wants to be relieved about the help with the absolutely ridiculous amount of footage to cover. Maybe Futaba would be more active with the work, and actually talk to Akira again.

But instead he just feels even more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I have opinions about their choice in hideouts? It's not just Ryuji's fault that they're so obvious this time.
> 
> saebest drew [Akira's room](https://tzhana.tumblr.com/post/617314805565538304/persona-5-au-fanfics-really-got-me-feeling-some)


	7. Confession

What does one do with the Phantom Thieves? It’s a hard question.

It’s been yet another half a week since Madarame has come out of his room, and Akira needs to get a statement out about the calling cards. He could accuse them of defamation on Madarame’s social media, as was the man’s preferred approach, but Akira has a feeling that that wouldn’t go over well with anyone this time.

Yusuke’s still out as always and Madarame’s not coming out anytime soon, so Akira’s on his own.

_These are truly terrible accusations,_ he starts writing, and frowns. How could he possibly dance around the subject of the Phantom Thieves’ calling card but still address their presence?

_I deeply apologize for the Phantom Thieves’ disturbance in my exhibition,_ he tries, _as well as my own absencelasgfdn_ —his fingers flinch on the keyboard as the door to his room clicks open. He whips around to see Madarame in the doorway, looking surprisingly unaggressive.

“Akira,” Madarame says, morose, “I—” His face spasms for a moment and there’s an awkward pause, “When you have the time,” He settles on, and that’s not something Akira has ever heard out of the man’s mouth. Something is drastically wrong.

“Could you schedule a press conference?” Madarame continues, “Soon would be nice, but if you can’t then that’s fine, of course.” Then he shuffles back out, carefully closing the door behind him, leaving Akira gaping until he hears the thud of the man’s own door closing down the hall.

Something is drastically, catastrophically wrong.

Never once, not online or through stories or with his own ears, has Akira heard Madarame speak like that. It’s like the kind of scary polite you’d hear in movies right before someone tried to kill you. Even worse, Madarame had seemed like he’d meant it.

Akira turns and goes straight to the most well-known TV station in Japan. They’d had Madarame on a few times before and would be delighted to know that he was having a press conference. After that message is sent, he works on the actual press conference.

Madarame had always liked telling the news stations before organizing the actual event, stringing them along for details.

Akira gets a time slotted in for the very next day. He’s just that good by now (isn’t it disgusting?). He’s not sure about the whole _if you can’t that’s fine_ deal, but he’d rather not test it.

Pretending to be nice is one of Madarame’s favourite things to do, after all.

When everything has been arranged, journalists contacted and time announced on social media, Akira goes up to Madarame’s door. He doesn’t knock.

“Your press conference is tomorrow at nine o’clock.” Akira says.

“Thank you.” Comes the hesitant reply.

Akira retreats back to his room, shaken.

At nine o’clock in the morning, Akira is sitting alert in his chair. On the computer before him, front and center, Madarame sits surrounded by a sea of unnecessary microphones. Yusuke is out, presumably with his friends, and while he misses his presence Akira thinks that the Phantom Thieves may be able to provide more support for Yusuke right now.

Akira takes a long breath. Onscreen, Madarame takes one as well. Then he speaks.

“Everyone, thank you for coming today. I have something vitally important to share with you all: I have not been honest in my work.” Akira chews on his lip, waiting. There is still no confirmation that what the Phantom Thieves did always worked. He could back out at any moment, and life would go back to before, and nothing will have changed.

_“Just joking! I meant to tell you about a new art exhibit coming up!”_

He’s not sure that Yusuke could survive that.

“For many years, I have plagiarized my students’ work. I took their finished paintings from them indiscriminately and used every single one of them for my own selfish benefit. None of my works from the last decade have been truly mine.” Akira relaxes marginally, though he doesn’t untense at all. The truth is out. Madarame had started with the simplest and easiest to believe of the collection of facts he was to reveal, and because of that people were going to be more likely to believe the rest of them.

“I told the world that the Sayuri had been stolen when it hadn’t, and used that advantage to sell counterfeits at incredibly high prices. I paid exhibition staff to sabotage my competitors’ work. My students were mistreated under my care—” Akira’s vibrating in his seat. He knows what’s coming.

By this point, a number of groups filming the event have started to shut off their livestreams. It’s not unusual, that they would want to stop showing the man that they had just been praising prove himself a criminal. It’s bad for business to tell your viewers that you were wrong.

However, Akira had anticipated this. He knows how television and people in the public eye work. He’d had to. Akira knows that the majority of the stations trying to shut off their streams would keep filming afterwards, to try and skew it in a positive light after it was over.

Akira doesn’t let them. Whether they notice or not, all of the internet streaming in the room he is currently watching onscreen is under his control. They’re going to listen to Madarame confessing his crimes with his own mouth because Akira has decided that he wants them to.

Madarame finishes describing the neglect of his students. Then he moves on to Akira, or at least, the things he’d made Akira do.

He’d expected this too. Akira isn’t his student. If Madarame wanted to include him in his list of offenses, he’d have to do it separately.

Still, it stings to hear the long tally of things he’s done for the man over the years.

Hah. Even as he admitted his wrongs, Madarame still got to him.

He’d thought about this. If Madarame included him, no matter how he distributed the blame, it was likely that Akira would still be incriminated on his own. Underaged or not, he’d still done the things he had been asked to do.

Everyone would know. Yusuke would know, and finally believe it, in the worst way possible.

He’d later find out that Yusuke had only seen the abridged version of the confession on a billboard and never heard the part devoted to Akira.

Madarame would tell authorities that Akira hadn’t been responsible for most of the cybercrimes and convince them that he had been entirely coerced to do the few things that he had, and trial would deem Akira not responsible for his actions.

But for now, Akira watches as enough crimes to fill up a life sentence are spouted off live to the entire country.

_Natsuhiko: Hey, I saw the confession. How’s everything going?_

_Akira: Hard not to see it_

_Akira: Madarame’s been taken into custody_

_Akira: They’re keeping him at a hospital in case he’s gone senile or something_

_Natsuhiko: And you and Yusuke?_

_Akira: We’re moving into Kosei dorms soon_

_Akira: Yusuke’s got some new friends to help him out_

_Akira: Madarame forgot about one of his more obscure bank accounts so I’m closing it and splitting the money between us all_

_Natsuhiko: I’m glad Yusuke has made some friends._

_Natsuhiko: Thank you, Akira, but shouldn’t you keep the money for the two of you? You’ll need it._

_Akira: Nah they’re giving us victim compensation and Kosei’s scholarship has an allowance if you’re in the dorms_

_Natsuhiko: As long as you’re sure._

_Natsuhiko: But what about you, Akira?_

_Akira: I’m fine_

_Natsuhiko: ...Alright, but just remember I’m here if you need to talk._

_Akira: Yeah ok_

_Akira: I’ll keep you updated_

Hello, I am Suzuki Yuto from Good Morning Japan! I would like to speak with Kitagawa Yusuke and Kurusu Akira about recent events concerning their guardian, Madarame Ichiryusai. When are you available for an interview?

Thank you for your request. However, Kitagawa Yusuke and Kurusu Akira are currently unavailable for interviews. Please respect their privacy in these uncertain times.

I am Amane Yui from Hello Japan. I was wondering if Kitagawa Yusuke and Kurusu Akira were available for an interview concerning Madarame Ichiryusai. Please contact me when you are able.

Thank you for your request. However, Kitagawa Yusuke and Kurusu Akira are currently unavailable for interviews. Please respect their privacy in these uncertain times.

Madarame Ichiryusai @MadarameIchiryusai

Madarame has been taken into custody following his confession.  
Please respect the privacy of his former students in these uncertain times.

9AM – June 6  
27K Retweets 21K Likes

Hello, I’m from Fuwasaga Sora from Tokyo News. I’d like to schedule an interview with Kurusu Akira. Please contact me.

Kurusu Akira is currently unavailable for interviews at this time. Please respect his privacy.

I’m Kuraka Shinu from The Scoop! Please schedule an interview with Kurusu Akira.

Kurusu Akira is currently unavailable for interviews at this time. Please respect his privacy.

From: wellnesscenter@tokyopd.com  
To: madaramei@jpmail.com  
Subject: Public Address Transcript

Madarame Ichiryusai has requested that the statements recorded here be released to the public through his social media accounts.  
_Statement.mp3_

_Statement.mp3 > open:  
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I could have done that, I’m so sorry... Please forgive me—no don’t, I don’t deserve it! I’m despicable! I hurt so many people! I’m sorry, I’ll never touch a paintbrush again, I’ll make all my pieces free—or no, I’ll give them back to their proper owners if they want them, they probably all hate me—”_

Madarame Ichiryusai @MadarameIchiryusai

“I am incredibly sorry for my past actions. I deserve all your distaste.  
Please respect my students and their work, regardless of supposed ownership.” -Madarame

12PM – June 8  
31K Retweets 29K Likes

I am Kabuto Yota from the Tokyo Star. I’d like an interview with Kurusu Akira concerning Madarame Ichiryusai.

Kurusu Akira is currently unavailable for interviews at this time. Please respect his privacy.

Hi, I’m Shizukana Samu from The Scoop! Please schedule an interview with Kurusu Akira.

Kurusu Akira is currently unavailable for interviews at this time. Please respect his privacy.

I am Masayo Ainu from The Scoop! Please allow an interview with Kurusu Akira!

Kurusu Akira is currently unavailable for interviews at this time. Please respect his privacy.

The Scoop would like an interview with Kurusu Akira! Please schedule a date within the next week.

The absence of their guardian does not justify the harassment of minors. Please respect the privacy of Kurusu Akira as well as the others involved in the recent events concerning Madarame Ichiryusai, or you will be reported.  
_This account will no longer reply to messages from The Scoop._

From: madaramei@jpmail.com  
To: ohyaichiko@jpmail.com  
Subject: Madarame

This is Kurusu Akira. Thank you for your business card earlier. Now that I’m available to answer, would you like an interview?

From: ohyaichiko@jpmail.com  
To: madaramei@jpmail.com  
Subject: Re: Madarame

Thanks for contacting me Kurusu-kun! I would love an interview. When are you free?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admittedly don't know enough about journalism, but I know that if not journalists then at least some _people_ would use every loophole they could to get a shot at some details. It might be considered rude to bug the victims like that, but nobody can see you bug people if you're just sending messages online. There's no way this didn't happen.
> 
> That said, please don't bug people like this.


	8. Tell Me Why Not

“Here is your room,” says a teacher Akira doesn’t know, “Please move your things in as soon as you can, and don’t forget you have class tomorrow.” Fidgeting, she adds, “I hope you and Kitagawa-kun are doing well?” Akira swallows his grimace.

“Yes, we’re fine. Thank you.” She leaves, presumably back to work, and Akira shuffles his things into the room before backing right out of it again.

Yusuke would need help moving in.

Hours later, Akira flops onto his new bed spread-eagle, exhausted. He’d forgotten just how much art supplies Yusuke had. Covered canvases and untouched canvases and paintbrushes and paint and easels and all those other things he can’t name despite living with a bunch of artists...

Akira blinks. Then he groans, thumping his head back on the mattress. He’d forgotten to ask Yusuke about the Phantom Thieves again. It’s been a week! Being part of a questionably legal vigilante group isn’t exactly something to forget about!

He needs to at least tell his brother to stop doing it in front of cameras.

...It reminds him of the other vigilantism he’s involved with—he still needs to get that Medjed project done.

Akira rolls off the bed slowly and stumbles towards where his computer is set up, laptop charging next to it. It’s not a far walk—Kosei’s dorms live up to their reputation and are achingly tiny. Flopping down into his trashy new chair with a creak, he opens up his file on the latest target: a more local yakuza boss in Shibuya.

Kaneshiro Junya is supposed to be part of an increasingly large web of yakuza collaborating with a notorious international human trafficking group. Medjed had taken down branches of the group years ago, before Futaba and Akira knew to look for deeper connections.

When they’d found out that the group had survived and flourished after their attack, Akira had decided that they couldn’t let that stand. Futaba... hadn’t really said anything. She’d dropped out of the project quickly.

Soon after, she’d stopped helping with the Phantom Thieves’ footage as well.

Medjed needs to do something soon though, and Akira wants to deliver. Kaneshiro’s name has been popping up more and more these days. To the police, it means he’s up to something. To the underground, which Akira is much more familiar with, it’s obvious that he’s gotten cocky. Either way, it’s a sign that Kaneshiro might have come across a new advantage that Akira needs to take out fast.

After working with Futaba during the final fiasco with Madarame, he’s got the research. Now he needs the proof. Yakuza tend to keep detailed records, if only for outside debtors, so that’s where Akira looks.

Kaneshiro doesn’t actually have much security on his servers, he soon finds, and while that’s pretty standard for yakuza (their security tends to rely more on their fists) Akira kind of wishes it was more of a challenge to get into their database.

Kaneshiro has an organized enough record, with plenty of debtors and employees. There’s nothing on transportation or merchandise, like what Akira’s looking for, however there is a special section dedicated to ‘Junior Members’ which lists new debtors acquired from a specific project. Further investigation proves this junior member title to be an accurate description—every name on the list is a minor from one of the nearby high schools. Detached as he is from the crimes of the world after seeing so many, Akira’s anger finally makes an appearance.

If Yusuke weren’t so fixated on art, he could have been one of those kids tricked into owing the yakuza. He still could be.

The lights in the hallway outside the dorm room shut off with a click, reminding Akira that there’s still school tomorrow.

He has his way in, and it’s not likely to be detected soon. He could finish tomorrow. One day couldn’t change much, could it?

After school the next day, Akira goes right back to work. He catalogues varying operations Kaneshiro has going—drug trafficking, loan distribution, debt collection, drug trafficking, arms trafficking, drug trafficking—pretty standard, all in all. No human trafficking. The guy’s recent popularity is apparently all that makes him interesting. Akira technically doesn’t need to do anything about him, since he’s not part of the group he’s currently targeting.

But, well.

Akira can see it easily: Yusuke in Shibuya, looking for more art supplies, being approached by someone. Taking a job because the expensive paints are always better, and Madarame never got them for him unless they were for an exhibition piece. It could so easily happen. Yusuke is so maddeningly gullible.

Akira won’t let it happen.

He checks the Junior Members project again just in case, and also to maybe delete the evidence blackmailing those teens.

A convenient folder contains instructions for it, outlining just how the kids are to be tricked into a lifelong debt to Kaneshiro. Akira decides that they’re not guilty based on what he sees. 

If anything, Kaneshiro’s being too obvious. He’s pulling in too many too fast, and rumours are spreading enough to make them believable, or to at least make people wary. Soon, Kaneshiro’s groupies are going to run out of agreeable victims. He’s definitely gotten too cocky.

Kaneshiro has debts recorded for dozens of school aged students—those names would have to be removed before the information was spilled. Akira doesn’t want them getting into trouble when it wasn’t really their fault in the first place. There’s a note that a recent debt can be found in a special folder, so Akira assumes that debts must be processed before they’re organized with the others. Remarkably organized.

The photos are much the same. Different school uniforms, different lockers or people to hand the packages off to, but the composition is generally the same. Also easy to delete. Organization is the same, with names in alphabetical order and a similar note about recent photos in a different folder.

After he’s done, he looks for the recent debts folder on a whim. How many students had been duped in the last few days, Akira wonders? The page has apparently been visited a couple times today already.

With how often it’s likely visited, he wouldn’t be able to delete anything from there without being noticed. If Akira wants to hide something, he’d have to wait to do it all at once.

Surprisingly, there are very few files in the ‘recents’ folder. Curious, he opens one of them.

...What.

Panicked, Akira flips through the rest of the photos in the file. He checks the recent debt folder. Goes back to the photos. This is not a folder for processing.

It’s a folder specifically for Yusuke and his friends. Why does a yakuza boss have photos of his brother as blackmail? Why is he listed for a three million yen debt due in weeks?

Akira doesn’t think when he snatches up his phone.

_Akira: Yusuke if you don’t tell me what’s going on right now I’m confiscating your private brushes for a week_

_Yusuke: I’m sure there won’t be a need for that. What’s wrong?_

_Akira: Don’t pretend you don’t know_

_Akira: Honestly what were you doing_

_Akira: When even was this_

_Yusuke: What are you talking about, Akira?_

_Akira: Are you serious_

_Akira: Kaneshiro.jpg_

_Akira: Yusuke. Talk._

_Yusuke: Where did you find that!?_

_Akira: Why are you listed as an “associate of a debtor” for 3MIL!?_

_Akira: For Kaneshiro!?_

_Akira: They collect whether you pay or not Yusuke you’re in serious trouble here!_

_Akira: Kaneshiro’s especially vicious_

_Akira: What is going on?_

_Yusuke: Akira, please refrain from snooping around the affairs of unsanitary individuals._

_Yusuke: You could get caught._

_Akira: You did get caught!_

_Yusuke: Was that photo leaked?_

_Akira: What no it wasn’t leaked_

_Akira: Yusuke answer the question_

_Yusuke: So it’s not public right now?_

_Akira: Of course not_

_Yusuke: That’s a relief. Thank you, Akira._

_Akira: Yusuke seriously_

_Akira: Yusuke_

_Akira: Yusuke you better explain right now_

_Akira: Yusuke_

_Yusuke: I’m sorry, Akira, but I can’t tell you._

_Yusuke: It’s safer if you don’t know._

Akira stares down at his phone, appalled. _Safer?_ A yakuza boss has several incredibly incriminating photos that if released could destroy Yusuke’s career, reputation, his entire _life_ —Yusuke even knows it himself! And he won’t tell Akira? Who could help? What else are they going to do about it? Just pay it off? Forget the Phantom Thieves, this is the yakuza.

Akira’s seen far too many examples to not know that paying it off resulted in more debt. There is no escape. Yusuke has dug himself a hole he can’t get out of alone, and he won’t let his brother help. Akira can’t prevent something that has already happened.  
He’s so righteously infuriated he forgets to steal Yusuke’s stupidly expensive paintbrushes.


	9. Meet the Parents

After that, Akira descends into a haze of worry.

His brother’s in danger with a known merciless yakuza boss and won’t tell him why. Akira can’t delete the photos because they’ll notice and release the backups they probably have immediately—apparently Yusuke’s friend is a special guest, so they check her file regularly. He can’t help his brother at all, and it doesn’t even matter because Yusuke won’t let him.

Futaba has dropped off the map. She hasn’t replied in days when she used to always reply in seconds, and when she does talk to Akira it’s in stuttered bursts of one-word responses. She doesn’t touch Medjed, even when for years Akira knows it was the only reason she kept living. Her online activity has disappeared entirely. Akira can’t find her anywhere. He can’t help his sister at all, and it doesn’t even matter because Futaba won’t let him.

He occupies himself with the one thing he can actually do. He works on his laptop in school, his desktop in the dorms, homework projects or footage editing or research. He tries to pretend Medjed is still alive, beating off the more annoying copycats and exposing crime when there’s an endless amount of it in the world. And he can’t even do that well.

He finally finishes compiling the gargantuan list of companies and yakuza and mafias involved in the worldwide human trafficking scheme. It goes live. Hundreds are arrested and more put under suspicion, and somehow everyone on the globe is panicking about it except for Japan, who talks about it for a day and then goes back to the Phantom Thieves.

He gets a single thumbs up emoji from Futaba that day. She doesn’t say anything else the entire week.

Sometimes he’ll see Yusuke in the halls, dropping off canvases and schoolwork in his room before dashing off to do whatever Phantom Thieves do. He still follows them through the cameras when they meet, looping them or even just turning them off whenever they disappear in the middle of the street and working through the backlog from when the Phantom Thieves didn’t include Yusuke.

Whenever Akira tries to visit, Yusuke isn’t there. He still won’t say anything about Kaneshiro. He lets the debt slide for the time being, hoping that Yusuke knows what he’s doing.

After about fifty unanswered text messages, Futaba messages him out of the blue one day.

_Alibaba: new questline go to leblanc in yongen_

_Joker: Baba what_

_Joker: Where have you been_

_Alibaba: I know someone there_

_Alibaba: itd be nice if you met him_

_Alibaba: youre the two ppl I like the most_

_Joker: Of course_

_Joker: Baba what’s going on tho_

_Alibaba: double xp_

_Joker: Baba_

_Joker: Futaba seriously_

He doesn’t get anything else out of her. It’s infuriating.

Akira thinks it’s maybe some sort of apology. Whenever Futaba falls deeper into her depression, she gets like that no matter what Akira does to try and get her to stop. She always feels obligated to make some nonexistent wrong up to him.

Although this time, Akira can’t say he regrets being given this opportunity. Futaba trusting him with this is something he’d never expect of her, and he doesn’t plan to disappoint his sister.

Yongen-jaya is small, cramped and quiet. Like the streets by Madarame’s shack, it feels like nobody is ever there, even as you walk past someone else going about their business and the person in the shop across the road waves to you. He gets lost once before he asks for directions, and twice again after that.

Leblanc fits right in with the rest of the place: small, innocuous, and incredibly foreboding. Akira pushes the door open as casually as he can and tries not to flinch at the sound of the doorbell.

“Welcome,” says a stern voice, “Take a seat and I’ll get to you in a second.” The man behind the bar is older, receding hairline and slouched back, but he looks like he has more steel than Madarame ever did. The pink shirt is an interesting touch, but it matches the apron well enough.

Akira sits at the bar, because the tables are too far away for him to get there without falling over from nerves. The man in front of him is busy with his phone, which seems like bad service, but it’s not like Akira can say anything as he pulls out his own phone.

There’s still nothing from Futaba. He’d hoped that coming would get some sort of response, but—

_Alibaba: quest complete! meet sakura sojiro!!_

“Sakura...?”

_Joker: Futaba?_

No answer. Akira huffs.

“So, Akira, huh?” Akira jerks his head up to see the man in the apron frowning severely down at him. His previously bored look has barely changed, but now that all the man’s focus is on Akira it feels so much more intense. His phone is still unlocked in his hand.

It figures that this is Futaba’s friend. Akira nods. “Yes, sir.”

“How d’you know her again?” He asks, like he already knew and just forgot.

If Futaba had told him as much as she’d told Akira, then Sakura Sojiro shouldn’t know much of anything. He’s probably bluffing, looking for information he doesn’t have. He feels for the guy, really, but the man looming over him right now is also _terrifying_.

He swallows, eyes skittering along the bar and the wall behind it.

“We met online, a-a few years ago.”

“Online, huh? Never met in person?” Akira’s not sure what he’s getting at. Is it the fact that Futaba rarely leaves her room, or the idea that friendships online aren’t genuine? Either way, he nods again.

“Never. We talk a lot, though.” Sakura Sojiro spends a few more seconds glaring down at him, deciding if he’s worthy. Then, he blinks. His brows unfurrow just a bit, and suddenly, the man just looks grumpy.

“So, what do you think of Futaba?” Sakura-san asks, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Akira blinks and lets a smile come onto his face.

“She’s, uh, she’s great. She’s smart and nerdy and dramatic, and she knows what she’s doing. She’s really fun to work with, funny, and she’s always too loud for me to overthink things. She’s like—” _a sister to me_. He pauses.

Is that okay for Akira to say to this man, who clearly cares about Futaba and probably wouldn’t like some random kid coming in and calling her his sister?

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Sakura-san doesn’t seem to notice Akira’s stumble, his face easing into a smile. Pushing off the bar, he says, “Let me get you some curry. You like coffee?”

“I—um, yes?”

Sakura-san is still terrifying, in Akira’s opinion. He’s the kind of man who looks old and weary and slow, but could probably break Akira’s neck in seconds if he wanted to.

Even if his curry is really good.

Akira’s tired of not knowing, at this point. Futaba still won’t talk to him, once again disappeared into nothing as if she were a Phantom Thief. Yusuke still refuses to trust him with a life-threatening debt that Akira clearly already knows about.

He’s been relegated to worrying about his two best friends from the sidelines (like always), working on his and Futaba’s projects on his own and erasing Yusuke’s digital trail every day. He checks the Phantom Aficionado website religiously, watching as requests are posted and taken down, cataloguing who the Phantom Thieves have taken care of. Who they’ve probably been threatened by and hurt by as the Thieves changed their hearts, however they did it.

Akira sees them reappear each day in the same place as before, slumped in exhaustion and slouched over aching sides and limping. He sees them come back excited and smiling, celebrating way too loudly and blissfully ignorant of the stares around them.

All he can ever really do is clean up after them. It’s all he’s ever done, after all.

One day, when he comes to the dorms after school to see Yusuke hurrying away from him once again, he catches a glimpse of his face. It knocks Akira’s attempted greeting right out of him. (Yusuke never acknowledges them anyways.)

Yusuke is wearing the single most determined look he’s ever seen on him. It’s a look that, up until now, had been reserved solely for paintings meant to impress an idolized Madarame wholeheartedly. They come once in a blue moon, passionate and urgent and excited and focused.

He doesn’t even see Akira as he passes.

Akira watches him go, thunderstruck.

It’s obvious now, if it hadn’t been before, that the Phantom Thieves are important to Yusuke. He puts them above his art, of all things. He spends almost every day with them, working tirelessly towards something that must be just as important.

It’s something Akira’s not good enough to be a part of.

In his mind, something snaps into place. Or out of place. He’s not sure, and it doesn’t matter. Nothing’s changed, really, except that Akira’s even more tired now. He decides that, even if he really is just that incompetent and doesn’t deserve to know the reason behind Yusuke’s actions, Yusuke at least deserves to know what Akira’s been doing for him behind the scenes. He should have told him sooner, really.

But not yet.

Akira waits for Yusuke and his friends to finish their latest heist. It’s probably Kaneshiro, considering the fact that Niijima is the one registered as the debtor and she’s since joined their group. They’re not going to be able to shake the debt any other way.

So he gathers up all the useless data from his foray into Kaneshiro’s servers, screenshots camera footage of the Thieves mid-disappearance by Madarame’s, at Shujin, at the accessway, and waits.

He’ll show Yusuke when he’s ready.


	10. I'd Like to Ask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully there's less angst this time so we can all just bask in Sojiro's existence in the story now, but knowing Akira that's probably not the case.
> 
> Warning for suicidal ideations. If you want to avoid that part, skip from when they switch to concord and jump down to where there are actual paragraphs again.

#### Challenge!

Takaki Yuuto PhD in Computer Science \--Asked February 2013--

Challenge! Myself and a few coworkers finally figured this out recently, and I’m curious if anyone else can solve it. If you can’t, still tell me what you think! _https://www...._

\---

##### 5497 Responses

_-Sooo hard!! No clue what to do…_

_-I think I got pretty far, but I’m stuck on one of the variables. Good challenge!_

_-Wow, this is impossible_

_-So far it looks like nobody’s figured it out. How long did it take you guys to do it in the first place?_  
\---OP: _Once we were able to identify the objectives, it took maybe half a year with the five of us working on it constantly. Such are the ways of programming!_

_-Nope. Don’t get it_

_-Yknow I know this language like the back of my hand and then you pull this on me. I got nothing. Gonna go question my life now._

More answers

\---

##### 2 Answers

-Babali1427: _maaan that was fun! took a few days even ;p read more_

-Jokeson29: _Here read more_

_(3) new private message(s)_

Babali1427: _hey i saw your answer on that challenge post it was pretty good_

Babali1427: _you seem like a human of culture_

Babali1427: _wanna look at some of my code_

Jokeson29: _Which challenge post?_

Babali1427: _this one https://www...._

Jokeson29: _Oh yeah_

Babali1427: _so?_

Jokeson29: _?_

Babali1427: _i got some code im working on thats way cooler than that_

Babali1427: _wanna see?_

Jokeson29: _…sure?_

Babali1427: _Hey lets move to an actual chat app_

Babali1427: _You got concord??_

Jokeson29: _I do_

Babali1427: _K add me on that_

Babali1427: _Youre gonna like this new mod I made_

Jokeson29: _Ok done_

You’ve started a chat with _Alibaba953487!_

Alibaba953487 _has changed their name to Alibaba_

Jokers905437 _has changed their name to Joker_

_Alibaba: 38543.png_

_Joker: Oh nice_

March 2013

_Alibaba: what if I just died today_

_Alibaba: nobody would remember me lol_

_Alibaba: im a worthless lump that cant even leave her room_

_Alibaba: nobody even knows me_

_Alibaba: wouldnt be so bad tbh_

_Alibaba: not like theres a point in living_

_Joker: ???_

_Joker: You probably won’t die today Alibaba_

_Alibaba: but what if I want to_

_Joker: Besides, there’s always someone who will remember you. Not to mention it’s kind of impossible to leave absolutely no mark on the world_

_Alibaba: lol you right_

_Alibaba: p sure no one would remember me tho_

_Alibaba: sometimes its just like would you rather live or die and like living seems like a pain yknow_

_Joker: Yeah_

_Joker: I know what you mean._

_Joker: Dying would be a pain too, though, so just hang in there_

_Alibaba: yeah ok lol_

_Alibaba: sooo hows that gaming module coming along??_

April 2013

_Alibaba: uugghhghgh so tirrreeedddd_

_Alibaba: whats the point_

_Alibaba: were all gonna die anyways_

_Alibaba: might as well get it out of the way_

_Alibaba: theres no point in me being alive?_

_Alibaba: like what am I useful for_

_Joker: You don’t need to be useful to exist_

_Alibaba: well yeah why do you think im here_

_Joker: I meant some people might just enjoy your presence_

_Alibaba: hahahahahaha right_

_Alibaba: not when I dont talk to them at all they dont_

_Alibaba: im a terrible person_

_Joker: No you’re not_

_Alibaba: yeah sure lol_

_Alibaba: all I have to do right now is sit and think about how im worthless and im just draining his money and its all my fault that_

_Alibaba: yeah_

_Joker: Do something then?_

_Alibaba: yeah thats genius why didnt I think of that no really_

_Alibaba: nothing worksss_

_Alibaba: im so uselessss_

_Joker: Alibaba_

_Joker: You’re a master programmer and hacker_

_Joker: Hack something_

_Alibaba: like what_

_Joker: Not a bank_

_Alibaba: lol_

_Joker: Someone’s always hiding something. By this point there’s got to have been something you’ve come across that nobody will talk to you about_

_Alibaba: hmmm doubtful but_

_..._

_Joker: Yo you ok?_

_Alibaba: …its been 3 days and this isnt what I was looking for but theyre hiding something I know it_

_Joker: I get told you so rights_

_Alibaba: no you dont_

July 2013

_Alibaba: I need some more eyes on this_

_Joker: ...you need help?_

_Alibaba: no I need more eyes geez you think im asking for help??_

_Alibaba: no_

_Joker: Fine what do you need_

_Alibaba: k so these guys are like_

_Alibaba: human trafficking_

_Alibaba: and a bunch of other stuff_

_Joker: What have you been getting into seriously_

_Alibaba: shuuu_

_Alibaba: but their firewalls are annoying and I need you to spot me_

_Joker: Ok? sure_

_Alibaba: yessssss_

_Joker: Why are you like this_

_Alibaba: bc im the best obvs_

_Joker: I know I was the one who started this but why are you so into it all of a sudden?_

_Alibaba: its fun and these ppl need to go down_

_Alibaba: and I found_

_Joker: ?_

_Alibaba: Listen theres some stuff someone stole from me a while back_

_Alibaba: And I think I can find it again_

_Joker: They stole from you? tech genius extraordinaire?_

_Alibaba: fancy words_

_Alibaba: but yes_

_Alibaba: it was a long time ago_

_Joker: Ok well what do you need me to help spot you with?_

_Alibaba: i never need help im too good for that_

_Alibaba: but here take a look_

_Alibaba: 59839485.png_

February 2015

_Joker: Baba?_

_Joker: What’s up?_

_Joker: Where have you been?_

_Alibaba: sorry_

_Joker: Im not mad or anything but just_

_Joker: You’ve been slowing down for a while now is something up?_

_Alibaba: oh_

_Alibaba: nah im fine_

_Joker: Just bored?_

_Alibaba: ye I guess_

_Joker: Ok_

_Joker: Well what have you been doing then?_

_Alibaba: nothing sorry_

_Joker: Baba dw about it geez_

_Alibaba: sorry_

_Joker: Cmon you have to have been doing something right_

_Joker: A couple months doing nothing?_

_Alibaba: just_

_Alibaba: building my tomb_

_Joker: Futaba._

_Joker: You’ve been doing all of this mj stuff because they deserve it right_

_Joker: If that’s not a hero idk what is._

_Joker: You’ve saved lives._

_Joker: Yours is worth more than enough._

_Alibaba: yeah sure kira_

_Alibaba: thanks_

_Joker: Anytime_

July 2016

_Joker: Hey Futaba I know you might not be up to talk about it still_

_Joker: But just know that I’m here if you want to, okay?_

_Joker: I’m always here_

Akira tries not to sigh as he checks his phone one last time before heading into Leblanc. Futaba no doubt has bugs hidden in the cafe, and he doesn’t want to make her feel more guilty than she likely already does by hearing it. There isn’t any use in making her deal with his problems on top of her own.

He pushes the wooden door open, bell chiming as he steps in.

“Hey, kid. The usual?” Sakura-san is in his usual pink-and-apron ensemble behind the bar, already brewing someone else’s coffee even though there’s nobody in the café. He looks as grumpy as ever, but now Akira can take comfort in it. If he’s like that, then nothing is wrong.

“Yes please, Sakura-san.”

The dark room is warmly coloured and warmly lit, smelling constantly of coffee and spices. It’s nice. Now that Akira has been here a couple more times, he sees the appeal of the place. It’s part of the reason he keeps coming back.

All of it is.

“Ugh, that sounds so strange coming from a brat like you. I told you, call me Boss.”

“Uh, right, sorry Boss.” He sits at the bar like he always does, waiting patiently for the curry and coffee he always gets.

It’s not hard to come here. He’s visited almost every day in the past week, at first to get to know Sakura-san and then just because he liked it. It’s open and soothing and quiet but he’s also never alone. It’s nothing like school or the dorms and sometimes he doesn’t even want to go back. Sakura-san lets him do homework here or mess around on his laptop in the presence of another person. In the presence of another _safe_ person.

He hasn’t had that since Yusuke.

“So, how’s school?”

“Uh—pretty normal.”

“No new projects?”

“W-well, there is this one...” Sakura-san also does _this_. Akira’s still not sure what _this_ is, but after the first few times Akira visited, Sakura-san started asking about his day and encouraging him to talk. It’s not something he’d expect out of anyone, let alone Futaba’s grouchy guardian who only knows Akira as ‘that one kid Futaba knows’.

They make small talk while Sakura-san serves up Akira’s curry and brews his coffee, then while he eats and after that as well. It’s interesting to talk to an adult that doesn’t seem to want anything out of him.

Finally, they reach a break in the conversation, and Akira pulls out his laptop. As he opens it, Sakura-san takes it as a sign that he’s working and starts to move away, but Akira stops him.

“I wanted to ask you something, Sakura-san.” The man blinks in surprise, but then he sighs.

“Kid. Stop it with the Sakura-san.” Akira only looks up for a second, occupied with opening up his code.

“Sorry, Boss.” He’s also still not used to the lack of formality with anyone other than Futaba or Yusuke. Madarame had been a special case, of course, but maintaining the man’s image required a lot of pandering and formalities with others. And it had always been ingrained in him as a survival tactic anyways.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

“One second.” Akira activates the code he has set up, blocking Futaba from listening in on their conversation through the café’s bugs. If she accesses the code, he’s left a comment in it asking her to please let them talk, that he simply wanted some privacy and hadn’t wanted to stress her out.

Hopefully it would work.

“What are you, doing, kid?” Akira looks up, suddenly nervous.

“I hacked your security so Futaba can’t hear our conversation. I just didn’t want her to feel bad about what we were talking about, or take it the wrong way.” Then he adds, “Is that... okay?”

It says something about his experience with one teenaged hacker that Boss just frowns at the other one sitting in front of him.

“You kids and your computers these days,” he sighs, “You can get scary sometimes, you know that?” At Akira’s sheepish nod, he continues, “Alright, what is it?”

Akira gets right to it.

“Do you know what’s wrong with Futaba?”

At this, Boss’ whole body seems to sag. His shoulders slump, his face droops, and he slouches even lower. He runs a hand down his face.

“Hard question there, kid. Lotta answers to that. You mean anything in particular?” Akira looks down at his phone as it buzzes.

_Alibaba: fine have your old man gossip talk_

_Alibaba: 5 minutes, got it?_

“I... know she’s depressed, and that she never leaves her room. But lately, it’s been getting a lot worse.” He looks past his glasses up at Sa—Boss, watching his face grow years older as he talks. It hurts him too.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, she’s been getting worse,” Akira’s heart doesn’t sink, because he’d already known, but it’s a near thing, “She doesn’t eat as much, and comes out even less now. She’s been getting hallucinations.” That, he hadn’t known. Akira bites the inside of his cheek.

“Do you know... why? Has she...”

“Said anything? No. I’ve got no idea, kid. She might not even know herself.” Akira looks down at the bar beneath his hands, chewing on his lip. Saku—Boss must see something in his expression, because he straightens up with a stern look.

“Hey, none of this is your fault, understand? If you met her when you said you did, then she was getting better because of you. Judging by how you’re acting, you’d never do something that would cause something like this anyways. Got it?” Despite the conversation, a warmth shoots through him at that.

“Right.” He smiles weakly to keep Sakura-san from worrying. He taps at his laptop, turning off the blocker, and stands. “The bugs are back on, S—Boss. Thank you for today.”

Boss smiles. “Anytime. Come back soon.” As Akira reaches the door, he calls out, “You’re a good kid, Akira.”

Akira looks down at the gray pavement in front of the door as he leaves.  



	11. Just So You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay...

On July ninth, Kaneshiro confesses to blackmailing dozens of high schoolers, among other crimes, on live television. He blubbers into the camera as is the trademark for the Phantom Thieves, getting almost as much snot on the press’ microphones as Madarame had. The proof collected is too blurry or corrupted to determine just which students had taken jobs with Kaneshiro’s yakuza, but it’s enough to verify the claim.

Tokyo is in an uproar for the whole five minutes that they dedicate to the issue. After that, it falls into the flow of standard gossip, but Yusuke’s friends seem satisfied with the results.

Not long after that come exams. They’re easy enough, and Akira’s been done his computers honours course’s programming projects for ages. He’d had more important things to worry about.

Yusuke does fine on exams, but barely finishes his honours course’s required paintings in time. He’d been preoccupied, of course.

Akira waits until after the fireworks festival. The day after, he comes to the dorms and waits outside Yusuke’s room. It’s not long until his friend comes along his usual path, carrying a blank white canvas like he usually does. Akira feels kind of bad for interrupting his routine like this, but it’s the only way he can get to him at this point.

He pushes himself off the wall when Yusuke looks up and sees him.

“Hey, are you free right now? Wanted to talk to you about something.” Yusuke looks shocked that Akira’s even there to begin with. Then he smiles.

“Of course, Akira. Please, come in.” This is not the reaction he’d expected from this. He’d honestly expected an evasive ‘I’m busy’, making him need to try again the next day. And why is Yusuke so surprised to see him?

...Maybe it really had been Akira the whole time. Their schedules hadn’t matched well, and Akira hadn’t paid enough attention to properly find the time for Yusuke. Had he been neglecting him all this time?

Regardless, Akira follows Yusuke inside. His friend deserves to know everything no matter the circumstances. He’d waited long enough to tell him.

Yusuke’s dorm room is less impersonal than his old one at Madarame’s, if only because there’s less room for empty walls. There are still paint cans and canvases everywhere, unfinished paintings on the walls, and jars of brushes on the bedside table. Everywhere he looks amongst the mess of paper on the floor, however, there are sketches of Yusuke’s friends. There are even a couple of them in different costumes, probably something Yusuke had gotten out of a movie.

It feels like he shouldn’t be here.

Akira stands awkwardly amongst the sketches, shifting on his feet as Yusuke sits on the chair by his desk, looking at him expectantly. Yusuke opens his mouth to prod him but Akira still can’t remember how to talk so he blurts it out.

“Your loud blond friend really needs to stop shouting that you’re the Phantom Thieves.” He winces. Akira has spent five years managing the public persona of someone constantly trying to be better than everyone else. And yet he still can’t be anything but terrible with people when he’s trying to be genuine. “I can erase camera footage and audio recordings, but if someone hears it out loud, you guys are screwed.”

Yusuke stares at him with wide eyes, half-risen out of his chair in surprise. He doesn’t say anything. Akira panics, just a little bit.

“I know I’m probably wasting your time right now, considering you have way less time now to paint and all that, but I figured you’d want to know. You’re always busy with art and stuff—”

“Akira, how did you know?” Yusuke finally manages to say. Akira stops, and smirks bitterly.

“I said camera footage, didn’t I? You guys always do your disappearing act right in front of the cameras. I’ve been covering it up for a while now, but it really would be nicer if—” Past the shock, Akira notices fear in Yusuke’s eyes. Had he really not wanted Akira to know that much? Akira falters. “I didn’t tell anyone or anything, I swear. If it’s that bad I can pretend I don’t—”

“No, no, Akira, it’s fine,” Yusuke interjects, gaining control of his voice again, “I was simply caught off guard. Thank you for not telling anyone. I know you understand that this isn’t something so trivial.” With that affirmation, Akira forgets he’s still supposed to be apologetic for a moment.

“You’re lucky I noticed before Niijima decided to check Shujin’s cameras. They definitely would have noticed something up then.” He says with a happier smirk, before it drops from his face, “But I really am sorry. I should have mentioned it sooner, when I found out. I’ve been trying to catch you lately, but you’ve been busy, I mean clearly.” He gestures uselessly with a hand, trying to encompass the unknown process of stealing two high-profile people’s ‘hearts’ over a couple of months.

Yusuke looks confused now, having fixated on something halfway through his rambling.

“Wait, Akira, just how long have you known?” He says it slowly, like he’s still getting over the fact that Akira knows he’s part of a notorious vigilante group. He can’t blame him. Akira had taken a while to get over it himself.

“Um. Pretty much since you joined? I mean, you started staying out later right after that incident with Madarame’s secret room, and that’s when I suspected, but it was really the calling card that did it.”

“Surely my art style wasn’t that recognizable?” Classic Yusuke, focusing on the art.

Akira glances over a nearby doodle absently. “I didn’t get to see an actual card until after, so no. Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone could tell, though. It was actually the cat.”

“The cat?”

“Yeah, on the cameras this cat put up all the calling cards. It was the same cat that picked Madarame’s lock, so it was pretty obviously connected after that.”

“To know that Morgana could do such things, even then...” Yusuke’s eyes unfocus, fingers twitching without a brush or pen.

“Morgana?” He asks, hesitant. Yusuke starts, staring at Akira for a moment before he waves it off.

“Nothing to worry about.” More he couldn’t tell Akira, then. Akira sighs.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know. I’ll keep erasing the footage you guys leave, but you really should try to go somewhere less crowded, at least. Your disappearing act is pretty noticeable. What’s that about, anyways...?” Akira leaves the question open, hoping Yusuke will take the opening. He wants to know what’s going on, how they’re doing things, if they’re getting hurt.

Yusuke ignores the question altogether.

“Thank you, Akira, I’ll be sure to take your advice into account. If I may ask, though... How did you find those photos?”

Akira pushes aside the disappointment. “You mean the ones with you being threatened by Kaneshiro?” He asks, putting incredible emphasis on the word ‘threatened’, practically half of an hour-long scolding in the word, but Yusuke, as always, fails to notice.

“Yes, those ones. I was under the impression that they were solely in the possession of Kaneshiro himself.” Akira huffs out a helpless smile, brows raising in incredulity.

“I told you before, didn’t I? I know you know I didn’t just manage Madarame’s website all the time. I can hack. It was easy to check through Kaneshiro’s servers and find those.” Yusuke looks a little lost, but he knows enough about what Akira can do to label it ‘computer stuff’ and move on.

“Ah, I see. Well, thank you for refraining from sharing those, then.” Akira’s helpless little smile thins. 

“Did you expect me to?”

“No, not at all. I am merely thanking you anyways.” Yusuke looks so normal saying that, like nothing over the past few months has changed. Like he didn’t spontaneously run off and join a magical crime group and get a new hobby. Akira grits his sadness into another smile.

“Yeah, alright. Sorry this took so long,” Akira pushes himself up on the balls of his feet in lieu of the dismissive motion of standing from a chair and says, “It was hard to get a hold of you, with how busy you are now. That’s my bad. I should get going now, though. See you later?” Yusuke blinks slowly, as if the idea had never occurred to him.

“Of course.” He shows him out the door without elaborating, and Akira nearly throws himself into the hallway. When the door shuts softly behind him, Akira’s entire body shivers violently, shaking off the extra nerves.

He hadn’t even had to use the proof he’d gathered. That, at least, was a relief. And he’d succeeded in his mission to tell Yusuke.

It feels like nothing will change.

Akira decides not to worry about it as he rolls his shoulders back and walks back down the hall to his own room. Akira doesn’t get to control things like this. There’s no use wondering about it.

He focuses on the fact that Yusuke knows now, and he’d willingly admitted to Akira that he was a Phantom Thief. Maybe with that air cleared between them, they could go back to being friends. Akira’s not so sure they’re close enough to be brothers anymore, after all. He’s not sure he deserves that.

Back in a paint-cluttered room, Yusuke returns to his chair, thoughtful. So Akira knows about him and the Phantom Thieves. It’s not as frightening a prospect as he’d first made himself believe. When the Thieves had first told him of the dangers of telling others, he’d forgotten that Akira is normally the exception to that concept.

On his desk in front of him, his phone sits still and silent.

Yusuke opens the Meta-nav app, curious and dreading.

“Kurusu Akira.”

_“Candidate found.”_

His heart sinks in dismay.


	12. Welcome Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude of sorts.

_Natsuhiko: How have you been, Akira?_

_Akira: Fine_

_Akira: Yusuke’s fine too_

_Natsuhiko: I’m glad. Has anything happened recently?_

_Akira: Madarame’s been transferred out of hospital_

_Natsuhiko: That’s good to know, but I meant with you, Akira. How have you been doing?_

_Akira: School’s been fine_

_Akira: Easy enough, nothing’s really changed_

_Natsuhiko: Ah, you’ve always been good at that, haven’t you?_

_Akira: I guess_

_Natsuhiko: Well, if you need to tell me anything, or if you want to just talk, I’m here._

_Akira: Yeah_

After telling Yusuke, Akira’s prediction comes true, and nothing seems to change. The next day, Yusuke once again trades his afterschool time in the art studios for joining his fellow Phantom Thieves, and Akira still erases their digital tracks when they meet at Shibuya’s extremely public accessway.

Luckily, he’s done it so many times now that their images are easily patched over and looped. He’ll finish the job later tonight, when the Phantom Thieves return from wherever they’d gone and part ways once more, because their return time is always a little different and he’s not willing to completely fabricate them leaving every day.

It leaves him plenty of time to hop a train to Yongen-Jaya to maybe sulk a little over a plate of curry.

Leblanc has become a refuge far too quickly. It kind of scares Akira how easily he’s come to love the place, to have no problem with the idea of visiting every single day. The small, shabby café isn’t supposed to feel oddly safe. Nowhere is supposed to be safe like that.

He’s getting familiar with the neighbours around Leblanc, too, and he’s not quite sure how to feel about that. He walks the same route to Boss’ place every single time, and they’ve started recognizing him. If he’s not in a hurry, he offers tech help. Nobody mentions if they’d heard of him on the news.

It’s nice.

Akira checks for customers as he walks into a familiar room, low music playing along with a jaunty news commentator in the background. There’s only one other person today, which is not exactly great for business, but Boss had assured him that he wasn’t struggling. Akira’s still not so sure.

Akira passes the other customer and sits two seats away in his normal spot at the bar as Boss turns from where he’s cooking the curry.

“Hey, Akira,” He says, “I’ll get your usual going.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t pull out his laptop with the promise of incoming food, opting to just sit and watch while he waits. Noticing him avoiding his homework, Boss fills the air with the conversation skills of a barista used to making people talk.

“So how’s it going?” A creative opening, to be sure, but it works, because Akira isn’t capable of being rude in public.

“School’s the same as usual,” He says, because as much as he came here to be disappointed over the results of his talk with Yusuke, it’s not normal to be able to just say that. Akira’s had too many socially polite conversations in his life to think that you can just up and spout out your problems.

“I thought you kids were always getting new projects. Nothing to talk about?”

“Nothing new.” Boss just raises an eyebrow, and that’s when Akira knows he’s caught on. Akira’s not exactly being subtle about his worry for his brother, and adults always seem to know. He darts a quick glance at the other customer, invested in their phone, and relents. “I talked to Yusuke yesterday.”

“Ah. Didn’t go well?”

“It did for him, I think.” He slouches lower onto the table just saying it. He shouldn’t have a problem with how things had turned out, Yusuke had taken the news well and they hadn’t fought or anything. It’s selfish of him to want something in return for a common courtesy like not telling the world who the Phantom Thieves were. Yet no matter how many times he tells himself that in the wake of ignored text messages and dodged questions, it’s impossible to let go of the nagging worry that Yusuke’s gotten in over his head, and Yusuke wouldn’t tell him.

“Hmm,” Boss scoops rice onto a plate, “Well, you’ve got time, don’t you? I’m sure you’ll get it eventually. You can plan how to say it this time.”

“I did last time,” Akira mutters petulantly, but Boss is right, like he usually is. He can always try again. It’s not like Yusuke is going to run off with his friends and never come back. He has to stay in the dorms. “I don’t even know when I’ll be able to get ahold of him again anyways. He’s always gone.” He groans. “It’s hard to believe that staying at Madarame’s had some benefit to it. At least I knew where he was, then.”

“You’ll track him down, kid. The extra time might be good for you, anyhow.” Akira nods in thanks as Boss places the curry in front of him, scooping up a bite as Boss turns to the other person at the bar. “Do you need anything?”

“Oh!” They say, voice weirdly familiar, “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear—forgive my rudeness, but, ah, could you be Kurusu Akira?” The second part is obviously directed towards Akira, and when he looks up, the teen in front of him is indeed familiar. Abandoning the curry, he puts on the public relations voice ingrained in him by his former guardian.

“Yes, I am. You wouldn’t be Akechi Goro-san, would you?” It’s clear that they both already know who each other are. They smile fake, polite smiles at each other. Akira had almost forgotten how much he hated doing this.

He only barely hides a heavy wince. He’d gotten used to the people here and their habit to leave each other alone to their private issues. He’d have to be more careful here in the future.

“I was just wondering how you were doing, Kurusu-kun? I heard about the trial.” Of course he had. Akira responds as best he can to the idol detective investigating his brother.

“It went well enough,” He says, still smiling, “I’m very glad that Madarame was punished fairly. But how about you, Akechi-san? How is the investigation?” Akechi smiles the heartthrob beam of a mask that he’s famous for, and says some useless platitude that means absolutely nothing.

They go back and forth, exchanging social niceties in a painfully familiar, vicious duel and neither learning anything of particular value from it. It’s easy to recognize another person forced to learn to pander to the egoistic masses. Normally Akira might sympathize with the other boy, but he’d come to Leblanc to escape this. He’s not feeling particularly empathetic, especially when the detective had started it.

Eventually, Akechi leaves, looking the same as before but likely feeling just as empty and dissatisfied as Akira feels. Once he’s out the door, Akira slumps.

“What was that about?”

“Not sure.” He shrugs, shoving a spoonful of lukewarm curry into his mouth before he says anything else.

Boss doesn’t say anything, taking in the still kind of masked expression on Akira’s face, but his eyes flick between him and the door a few times before his brow furrows in an emotion Akira can’t decipher.

Eventually, Akira has to leave as well. Despite the interruption, he’d moped enough, and it was time he went back to the dorms and got something done. Boss stops him at the door.

“Hey, kid. You know, you—you can talk to me about anything, alright?” Akira’s confused, but Boss looks worried, so he nods.

“Yeah, thanks Boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a weird question to ask, considering I just teased Akechi, but should I go through the whole Persona 5 plot with this story? I had originally only planned to get to Futaba's Palace. Just looking for some input.


	13. Candidate Found

Yusuke is nervous. He’s rather familiar with the feeling, of course, but it’s not every day that you ask your friends to help you fight your brother’s darkest desires.

His nonexistent plan goes awry almost immediately, when he’s so nervous that he cuts into the others’ conversation early. He’s normally willing to listen to them talk. But what does some hacker they don’t know have over his brother?

“While this is an issue, I doubt that there is anything we can do about it in this moment. I do, however, have a request to make.” Yusuke interrupts, cutting off the rest of the group’s panic. After they take far too long to agree with his assessment, still staring at Makoto’s phone in thinly-veiled agitation, Morgana takes the lead.

“What is it, Yusuke?”

“I found out last night that a friend of mine,” He doesn’t say brother, he’s not sure Akira would be comfortable with them knowing about him just yet, “appears to have a shadow in Mementos. While I’m not quite aware of what the distortion is, I’d like to stop him.” If they don’t agree, he might just go and do it himself, regardless.

“Of course!” Ann, always bright and passionate, asserts immediately, “It’s great that you want to help him out, Yusuke! What about everyone else?” He feels another stab of irritation at the delay before he remembers: ah, yes, the unanimous vote.

“Yeah, sure,” says Ryuji, rubbing the back of his head, “We don’t have anythin’ else to do. ‘N if he’s got a distortion, it’s gotta be bad, right?” The others agree in short order, and they’re soon trundling along in Mona’s bright white cabin. It’s an interesting contrast to the black exterior, and to the dark hallways of Mementos passing by the windows. The repetitive motion grates at him for the first time since he’s started coming here.

“So what’s the name, Fox?” Mona echoes from around them.

“It’s Kurusu Akira.”

“Oh, he’s already nearby! I can probably find him pretty quick!”

“Really? Sweet!”

“Wait,” Queen turns from her seat in the driver’s position, “Kurusu Akira? As in—”

“We’re here!” Queen’s question is quickly forgotten as they all clamber out of the van, the pulsing cavern around them similar to the ones before. As usual, there’s a single shadow waiting for them at the center.

Unusually, there’s a distinct lack of malice in the air. Yusuke isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.

“Is that him, Fox?” It’s Ann, already bouncing up ahead. The shadow turns at the call, its shoulders seemingly hunched from misery rather than perversion. Its eyes, though glowing golden like all other shadows, look tired rather than evil. It’s a familiar look on him.

“Yes, that’s him.”

Akira’s shadow immediately locks onto him. He smiles.

“Yu—” his eyes dart to Panther, then back to him, “—Fox. You came. You and your friends.” The smile lessens.

Fox opens his mouth to respond, but Skull beats him to it.

“Heck yeah we are! I dunno what you did, but we’re gonna steal your heart anyways!” After this declaration, Fox tenses. But Akira doesn’t erupt into a monster like Fox, and undoubtedly the others as well, expects. Instead, he smiles the same bitter, helpless smile that Yusuke had seen the day before in his room.

“That’s okay, you really don’t have to worry about me. I won’t get in your way. There’s no need to change the heart of someone who hasn’t been able to do anything, after all.” And there’s nothing. Not even a ripple of the dark blood colour that indicates a shadow’s aggression. Akira’s perfectly happy to talk, it seems.

“What do you mean?” Queen interjects, voice heavy with implications that Fox isn’t aware of, “You’ve done plenty, haven’t you?” Akira’s shadow shakes his head, still smiling. 

“Nothing that matters.” His voice drips with disappointment, and Fox feels that same amount directed at himself. Although he’s still not sure what it is he’s talking about, it’s clear that something is terribly wrong. It has been since he checked for Akira’s name in the Navigator. It’s impossibly difficult to avoid noticing it when the shadow is in front of him, so how had he missed it in real life?

He’s still trying to sort through the wave of emotion as well as the conversation in front of him when Skull jumps in again.

“I don’t get it. How are we supposed to change your heart if we don’t fight you?”

The shadow blinks, and his eyes briefly fill with a light that Yusuke knows to mean he’s laughing in the presence of someone he doesn’t want to offend. Unsuspicious Skull takes no note of it. 

“You’re welcome to try. I’m not sure how far you’ll get, though. I haven’t been able to do anything worthwhile for anyone in a long time.” He still doesn’t transform.

“What does that have to do with anything?” His head tilts, aggressively or questioningly or both, “...Eh, doesn’t matter. Alright, here I come!” And despite Queen and Mona’s warnings, Skull charges in with his pipe. He swings wide, and the shadow dodges. When Skull turns for a quick rebound, Akira casts a defensive buff and blocks it with a forearm.

“Wha—” Behind Fox, Mona gasps. “But, he didn’t transform! How come he can cast buffs!?”

“I don’t know,” says Ann, raising a hand, “But let’s find out!” Stepping away from Skull, Akira turns to see Panther and immediately sends what looks like a bufu at her before she can finish her attack. She stops, startled.

“Panther, are you okay!?”

“I—that was the weakest bufu I’ve ever been hit with, I barely felt it—”

“I told you, I’m never able to do anything. I always sit on the sidelines and do what others tell me to,” Akira murmurs, sounding genuinely mournful, “When it really matters, I’m useless. I’m not meant to be able to help others. That’s why I won’t be able to lose to you. I’m sorry. I know you only mean well.”

With that chilling yet baffling statement, the rest of the Thieves, Fox included, launch into battle.

The fight continues endlessly, Akira never transforming even as he talks. He constantly raises his defense and evasion and lowers their attack power, never doing anything to his own attack or their defense. He counters every half-formed magic attack with one of his own incredibly weak ones, stunning them for seconds yet rarely actually injuring them at all. He ducks under gunfire, blocks or dodges whips and fists and swords.

Queen, as their tactical analyst, is incredibly vexed.

“I knew it! He’s using our elemental weaknesses! How does he even know them!?” At her growl, Akira responds tiredly.

“I can never do anything useful. I’m not worthy of this. You should direct your efforts to those who could be useful afterwards.” At least in that manner he’s the same as other shadows, falling into catatonia and repeatedly announcing his fixation senselessly. Fox has never hated a shadow’s words more.

Shadow Akira sidesteps Panther’s whip, sends a Psi at Queen’s charging Freila, and looks dejectedly off to the side. In the non-combat-oriented part of Yusuke’s mind, his heart breaks.

He still doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“Whenever someone needs me, I can never do anything. It’s always my fault. There’s no point in relying on me. I told you, I won’t be able to lose for you.” With that, he buffs his defense once more, setting off a round of groans.

Eventually, they have to give up. They completely deplete their magical energy and exhaust their endurance and waste a number of items, but they’re almost entirely unharmed. Akira doesn’t try to stop them as they file back into Mona’s bus, staring placidly after them. When Panther calls back to him, he responds as he had the entire time.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t change your heart! We’ll definitely do it next time!”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t lose for you. I’m never able to help. It’s my bad.” The last part of that answer resonates with Yusuke. It’s once again the same as the night before.

When Panther pulls her head back from the window and flops into her seat, the chatter starts up again.

“Whew, I’m wiped!”

“That was exhausting!”

“It was infuriating.”

“What kind of shadow was that!?” Fox simply waits until they’re done, ruminating in his own head until Mona breaks in.

“That wasn’t a normal shadow, huh.” It echoes around them, arresting Panther and Skull’s complaints as they all pause.

Because it wasn’t. “It certainly wasn’t,” Queen states, “Kurusu Akira knew our elemental weaknesses before we showed him our affinities, meaning he knew them before we came. He never outright attacked like shadows normally do, only reacted to our attacks. He predicted our attacks before we made them, even the physical ones. And he never transformed. Mona, do you know anything about this?”

“The fighting style could be part of his cognition of himself, but other than that, I don’t. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

They’re all silent on the ride back, thinking of explanations. Yusuke thinks less of the shadow and more of his brother, compared to the others.

“All I can think of is that maybe that was his transformation,” Mona rumbles quietly, after a while, “Maybe we didn’t notice his transformation because he looks the same either way.”

“Is it possible that he requires a change in cognition in the real world?” He proposes once they’ve returned to their hideout. It’s not hard to remember the reason he knows this group in the first place. He has the beginnings of a plan sketched out in his mind, rough and smudged, but it’s a plan.

“Maybe,” Morgana jumps up to Ann’s shoulder, tail swaying tiredly, “You should give it a try. We don’t know anything about these kinds of shadows, but cognition is everything in the Metaverse.”

“What was his distortion, though?” Makoto wonders, hand at her chin.

“Yeah, it was weird. It was like, at himself, instead of at the world, you know?” Draped over the railing of the accessway, Ryuji doesn’t see the bewildered look Yusuke and the others give him. Eyes half-lidded in fatigue, he looks up at the silence. “What?”

“What do you mean, himself?”

“Well, the other shadows always have distortions of the world. Like that sadist girl. She thought her friend liked her hittin’ him like that, that was her distortion, right? And all those money grubbers, thinkin’ that it was society that was givin’ them the right to take from everyone else. And guys thinking that other people are just objects. They were looking at the world funny. Kurusu was lookin’ at himself funny.” There’s a shocked silence, Makoto looking to be running calculations in her head.

“Wow, I forget you’re smart sometimes, Ryuji.”

“Hey!”

“He’s right though,” Ann’s pigtails bounce as she sways from side to side, somehow still containing energy, “He was talking about not being able to do anything and being useless. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t hurting us, too!” She frowns, and the pensive look darkens. “I still wish we could have helped him, though.” Makoto clearly struggles, fighting to have sympathy when Akira had bested her stratagems.

Yusuke struggles too, but for a different reason.

“I agree,” He says, finally speaking. He has a plan now. “Thank you all for doing this today. I believe I will try to talk to him here before we try anything else.” As he leaves behind a chorus of goodbyes, his movements become decided. He goes to talk to Akira.


	14. Let's Talk

The sky is getting dark as Yusuke makes his way back to the dorms, approaching a musty gray in tone and deepening further at the edges of the horizon. It’s nothing special, but Yusuke often stops to admire a sky like that regardless. Today, he doesn’t.

He passes through hallways with a single-minded focus like he always has, though now directed at a different target. Once at Akira’s door, he knocks, hard and firm.

He’s not going to let this go, not like how yesterday had apparently gone unresolved.

“Yusuke?” Akira looks incredibly surprised to see him. He supposes that he hasn’t visited once since they’d moved in, but surely it couldn’t be that surprising that he would visit his brother?

“Akira. I’d like to speak with you about something. Is it alright if I come in?” Akira blinks, still visibly blindsided by Yusuke’s presence, and lets him in.

Once the door closes, Yusuke doesn’t let Akira get a single word out.

“There is something wrong.”

“Yusuke wha—”

“There’s something I’ve done, Akira, and you need to tell me what that is. You’re upset, and I don’t know what has caused it.” He abandons all sense of politeness that Madarame had instilled in him over the years, because polite does nothing but keep people from saying what they need to say and that won’t help his brother.

Akira blinks at him again. He doesn’t say anything.

“It’s clear that something is wrong, Akira. I’m sorry that it has taken me this long to realize that, and longer to realize that I am the reason for it, but I’d like for you to tell me so that I can fix it.”

Yusuke has always preferred the abstract side of the art world, because such simple things as words and still photos are unable to truly portray meaning. A painting simply of a man does not tell the story of all that man is and was. Words do not portray all that Yusuke wants to say in this exact moment. It requires something more that he doesn’t have.

Akira blinks once more, several times, painfully. His mouth opens briefly only to close into a forced smile not unlike the sad and bitter ones he saw down in Mementos today.

“I, uh, I told you, Yusuke. It’s, I just felt bad about not telling you that I knew you were a Phantom Thief.” But Yusuke knows that that isn’t true. Even if he hadn’t heard the opposite from Akira’s shadow earlier, he would still notice that Akira’s smile becomes even more forced when he calls Yusuke a Phantom Thief.

“Is there something wrong with me being a Phantom Thief, Akira?” Akira freezes. Yusuke looks at him, studying him like a painting. Wondering just what that problem could be. Akira’s smile trembles.

“N-no, I just, uh—” Yusuke’s still busy trying to figure out the expression on Akira’s face to say anything when Akira stops. He can see his smile struggle frantically to remain on his face and something rise up in his eyes.

In the next moment, his whole face drops. He looks as tired as his shadow had.

“It’s just, I don’t know what you guys are doing as the Phantom Thieves, I don’t know how you guys are doing it. I’m just worried.” It’s obviously far more than that, but Yusuke owes Akira this much at least.

“Of course I can tell you. You just had to ask.”

“...I uh, I did. Before. But, yeah.” Akira goes quiet.

“Oh.” How had he missed that? Was he so oblivious as to ignore Akira saying it outright? “I apologize, then. If I tell you now, would that help?” Akira once again looks so achingly surprised.

“Y... yeah.”

“Very well, then.” Yusuke sits on Akira’s bed and is mildly disappointed when Akira doesn’t join him like they’d always used to do when Akira snuck into his room. Instead, Akira takes the chair at his desk and sits across from him hesitantly.

Yusuke decides to start at the beginning.

“When Ann and I encountered Madarame’s locked room and the counterfeits within, we did not come back out that way, as I’m sure you noticed.” Yusuke looks to the ground to organize his thoughts. How best to describe the experience of falling through dimensions into his mentor’s manifested heart?

“Ann used an app on her phone to pull us into what is called the Metaverse, which is where we perform our actions as the Phantom Thieves. We disappeared from the real world, entering a new dimension.” Yusuke glances up to see Akira’s brows furrow in concentration. He doesn’t show any more signs of disbelief, but he must notice Yusuke’s confusion, because he grins wryly.

“I told you I saw camera footage, right? I’ve seen you disappear into thin air. I figured it was going into another world after you showed up in the same spot as before, several hours later, without popping up on any other cameras in the meantime. Would've been a lousy use for teleportation.” And of course Akira had been smart enough to figure it out. Yusuke smiles back at him.

“When we are in that world, we have the ability to change hearts.” At this, Akira leans forward, focused. “For those that appear on the news afterwards, the people we leave public calling cards for, we have a specific process. Those people have what we call ‘palaces’, which are sections of the Metaverse that are completely under their control.”

“They can control the world you guys go into?”

“That’s where things are more complicated. These palaces are physical manifestations of that person’s distorted ideals. They are not consciously aware that they have these palaces.”

“So, Madarame...”

“His palace was a garish art museum, full of portraits of the students he’d taken advantage of. He saw them as his personal masterpieces.” There’s a pause, processing that. Then Akira laughs shudderingly, slouching over in front of Yusuke like the revelation had fallen onto his back instead of Yusuke having spoken it. It’s a familiar feeling. He’d been the same when he’d first seen his own portrait.

“I’m not surprised. Was I there?”

“I didn’t see your portrait, but there were a number of halls that we didn’t go into.” Yusuke hadn’t even thought of that. He’s glad he hadn’t seen it. Akira lets out a puff of air like a laugh and doesn’t say any more, so Yusuke goes on quickly.

He wants to get to the important part.

“Each palace has a ‘ruler’, of course, which is another manifestation of the person’s distorted ideals, only fashioned as themselves. We call them shadows.”

“Accurate enough. How was Madarame?”

“He was robed entirely in gold, face painted and always surrounded by guards. Ryuji likened him to a shogun.” Akira only smiles at this, shoulders shaking giddily in his still hunched position. His hands slide up to curl into his hair. The shadows in the corners of the room feel familiar. All that is missing is an echo of Madarame’s voice.

He speaks in a haunted monotone. “Figures.” Then, skipping smoothly over the pain Yusuke recognizes all too well, he continues, “So you just talk to the shadows, and that’s it? Why does it take you so long? And what’s with the calling cards?” Ah. Yusuke suddenly remembers just why Akira might have good reason to be worried about him.

“Palaces are designed like regular buildings. In order to get to the ruler, we must first navigate the palace itself. It takes longer than we like.”

“Then why are you so exhausted whenever you come back out?” Yusuke sees the worry in Akira’s eyes now. He can’t think of a way to avoid it.

“We, ah.” Akira looks up at him expectantly. “The palaces are also guarded by shadows. We try to sneak past them, but oftentimes that isn’t possible and we are forced to fight them.”

“You fought Madarame!?”

“Well, yes, but I meant, ah. Other shadows.”

“Oh for—Yusuke, there are tons of these distorted manifestation people like Madarame running around, and you have to fight them all!?” Akira straightens up in a panic, and Yusuke realizes his mistake.

“Oh—no, no. There are other types of shadows. Not all of them are people, nor are they nearly as powerful.” Akira settles down, but only just. Yusuke hurries to explain. “There is only one ruler per palace. The rest of the shadows are mere beasts, small, weak manifestations of their base desires drawn to patrol there by the ruler. It is them we fight. I assure you, we are well-armed.” Akira blinks, as if remembering something.

“Is that why there’s always a plastic katana sticking out your bag?” Ah, he’d noticed. Yusuke feels a rush of embarrassment, but soon ignores it, “Yusuke, you know plastic doesn’t work like a real weapon.”

“In the Metaverse, it does. Don’t worry.” Akira huffs.

“We’re talking about this more, later, and I’m getting you a better weapon. I’ll worry all I want to. What was that about fighting Madarame.” He says it like an order. Yusuke complies.

“Often,” always, even in Mementos, but he doesn’t say that, “When we talk to a palace ruler about changing their ways, they aren’t inclined to listen to us. Sometimes we must resort to force.”

“So you fought Madarame.” Akira finishes slowly. There’s something strange in his tone, no longer worry or anger but not the curiosity from before either.

“Yes.”

Akira takes in a long breath, hunched over himself where Yusuke can’t see his face. His chair creaks loudly.

“I could never do that,” he says, and Yusuke is abruptly reminded of mere hours ago in Mementos, “Fight Madarame. I was always so scared of him, and he never even did anything to me. You’re amazing, Yusuke.”

Yusuke is tempted to mention the comical set of paintings that Madarame had turned into during their fight, spewing putrid black paint and bouncing around madly. But then Akira lifts his head up, eyes still on the floor, and Yusuke loses his breath. He looks so horribly miserable, smiling in resignation and self-disgust. He’s no longer shaking or bitter, but this is worse.

Yusuke hadn’t had chance to get a good look at Akira’s shadow, always dodging and twisting as he fought them, but he doesn’t remember it ever looking so despondent.

“When a person isn’t distorted enough to have a palace,” Yusuke continues abruptly as Akira blinks up at him, “Their distorted ideals manifest as a single shadow of themselves in Mementos.” He doesn’t waste time elaborating. This needs to be confronted _now_. 

“Today, I found a shadow of my brother there.”

Akira freezes again, in an uncomfortable half-hunched form. His brow furrows for a moment, before flattening out again. Then, his eyes widen.

“I-I have a shadow?”


	15. Believe Me

“I have a shadow,” he repeats, and Yusuke can see the moment when Akira fully realizes what that means.

“Yes.” Yusuke says, bolstered as the root of the matter is finally revealed, “You—”

“I—Yusuke... I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—no, that’s... Of course I’m just like him. Listen to me, I sound just like him now, too.” Akira grows a weak smile, pushing it onto his face as Yusuke watches helplessly without understanding. “I never did do anything about him, even after knowing for all of this time. It’s no wonder that I’m just as bad as Madarame and the others.”

Oh.

No, that’s—

As bad as Madarame?

“Akira, no!” Yusuke jumps up, startling Akira into jerking back in his chair. Yusuke plants his hands on both of Akira’s shoulders and keeps them there, firm but light. As oblivious as he had been over the years in Madarame’s care, he’d still noticed the way Akira had stiffened under Madarame’s single heavy hand on his shoulder. “You are not like Madarame. Not all shadows have terrible distortions like Madarame’s or Kamoshida’s, greed and gluttony and lust and pride. It just means that you have a misconception of some part of your world. One that we can correct. You are _not_ Madarame.”

Yusuke is not good with words, with _speaking_. This isn’t what he wants to _say_.

Akira’s still looking at him, parsing through what he’d blurted out. Yusuke, desperate now, takes the opportunity.

“When we spoke to your shadow, it said that you are convinced that you cannot do anything or accomplish anything that matters to you. That is not anything like Madarame.” At that, Akira calms slightly. He swallows slowly, thinking.

“But you... talked to my shadow? You fixed it?”

“Unfortunately, your shadow was so convinced that it was incapable of doing the things that mattered, it proved itself incapable of losing to us.” Akira sags in disappointment.

“Oh. So—” 

“And that is why I asked what was wrong, earlier. Because it is obvious that I had a part in your feeling like this, and I wish to rectify that. Please tell me what is wrong, Akira.” He doesn’t know what else to do at this point. What else would work.

His brother stares up at him, gnawing on his lower lip. He looks so incredibly conflicted, and he shouldn’t. He should be able to tell Yusuke what’s bothering him, just like Yusuke has always been able to tell him.

But that hadn’t been the case, had it?

“I... you didn’t see the full version of Madarame’s confession, did you.” Yusuke blinks at the non-sequitur, taking his hands off of Akira’s shoulders and settling back on the bed cautiously.

“I watched it on a billboard screen in Shibuya.”

“Yeah, so you didn’t.” Akira sighs tiredly, eyes sliding to the side. “They cut out a lot; I can pull it up now so you can watch the part where he mentions me. It’s a—good starting point, I guess.”

“I’d like to hear it from you.” Yusuke is determined. He’s gotten so close, and he doesn’t want to hear the rest out of his wretched old mentor’s mouth.

Akira glances back up at him.

“Okay.” He pulls his laptop over from the desk anyways, and Yusuke is confused until Akira opens a familiar website.

It’s like a mirror of two years ago.

“...When Madarame first brought me to that rust bucket, he started teaching me. It wasn’t painting like you and Natsuhiko. He... at first it was just PR, learning to deal with clients for him and keeping his website organized and stuff like that. He tricked me into hacking into his competitors’ websites and sabotaging them, making them undesirable to those visiting.” While Yusuke now remembers the first time he’d heard this, it’s still somewhat jarring to hear. Akira sits there, saying that so casually, as if he weren’t describing Yusuke’s former mentor forcing an eleven year old to hack into people’s livelihoods and destroy them.

As if it were normal.

“Then he got me hacking into banks. He didn’t really understand how banks worked, computer-wise, just kinda left me to figure it out myself, but soon it was pretty regular for him to come into my room and give me a name for me to hack and take money from. It all went into his private bank accounts, which you know about now.”

He shows him the websites and banks he remembers hacking, murmuring little things like ‘this one was popular’ or ‘he really liked when I got him into this museum’ as he goes. It’s a good thing that Akira is focused on his laptop as he does it, clicking through some predetermined list on autopilot, because Yusuke can’t control his horrified expression and he’s not sure there’s any way Akira would take it the right way if he saw it.

“I got used to it. Overall, I kept his social media going on my own, and he just kind of came and told me whenever I needed to do something in particular. It boils down to a lot of sabotage, some bank taps, and some camera coverage for when Madarame had his sabotage done in person.” When he says it like that, it sounds like so little.

“I’m not sure why it would bug me so much. I mean, it’s just something that I did, and five years isn’t that much, and they did let me off without a penalty at court. Got pretty lucky with that one. But yeah, there you go.” And he keeps going.

Throughout his explanation, Yusuke sees hundreds of websites flip past on Akira’s laptop screen, each one someone’s work that Madarame had forced him to sabotage. Some were prestigious museums that had featured Madarame’s pieces. There were more than a few banks, some even Yusuke recognized, and he watches Akira’s face crumple more with each page. It’s clearly not something that Akira had gotten used to.

Though certainly more refined, it’s the same presentation he remembers hearing before, and this time it’s impossible not to believe.

Eventually, the impromptu slide show stops, and with it, so does Akira. His hands fall limp, and it takes a few more seconds before he raises his head to look at Yusuke.

“Akira,” Yusuke whispers, and Akira flinches, “I am so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you the first time, and I’m so very sorry that you had to go through that at all.” Akira is shocked, and once again it’s a mirror of his reaction to Yusuke’s feedback the first time he’d told Yusuke about this. But this time, Yusuke isn’t telling him to stop.

His brother laughs heartbreakingly, squeezing his eyes shut when a tear slips out.

“I’ve wanted to tell someone for so long,” he says, “I was so scared you wouldn’t believe me again. Do you hate me? I know it’s a bad question, but I’ve—”

“Of course not.” Akira blinks wet eyes open, looking up at him with so much hope. “It was Madarame that forced you to do those things. You clearly did not enjoy the process, nor did you want to do it at all. How could I blame you for that?”

“I’ve known about Madarame doing all that for ages. I knew before I even came to stay with you guys. I could’ve done something about it, gotten him to stop. He wouldn’t have—I was so _useless—_ ” Akira grits his teeth, and in the same breath Yusuke’s heart breaks for the second time that day.

“You were not useless, Akira.” Yusuke’s panicking, not sure what to say in the face of such incredible self-hate, “You were a victim. We all were.”

“I can hack banks in a blink! Madarame directly relied on me for a good half of his income, maybe even more! I had so much power over him, but I was too scared to just—use it! I thought, maybe, if I told you I could get at least you to leave, so you could get away, but then I screwed that up too!” Akira builds up steam, words spilling out like paint from a can, vibrant and powerful and difficult to stop with no end in sight.

“I couldn’t even help Natsuhiko when he got kicked out or-or Tou—I couldn’t help anyone! I’m worthless when it counts! All I’m good for is ruining lives and doing what Madarame told me to. A stupid little puppet.” Akira heaves between sentences, nearing hysteria. All Yusuke can do is stare. Natsuhiko, himself, even Touma? Akira has taken so much blame upon himself, it’s difficult to know where to begin, or if he even can.

“You had to do it for me, and I couldn’t even help you when you got hurt doing it. And then, I...” Akira sighs suddenly and harshly, seeming to forget that Yusuke is still there in front of him. “I thought, you know, at least I’d be there to talk to, right? But I’m such a mess. You have better friends now, who could maybe actually help you. Not—” Yusuke doesn’t let him go any further.

“You are my brother.” He says, and again Akira looks at him like that information is a surprise, “I’m so incredibly sorry that I didn’t believe you the first time. But I will always trust you,” Yusuke ignores the contradiction in his words. This is something he needs to say, and something Akira needs to hear. It’s truth now, at least.

“I trust that if you could have done something, you would have. There is no shame in hesitance or fear, and when it comes to Madarame I’d say we both did very well. I was simply given an opportunity to expose Madarame that you weren’t. But we survived, and helped each other survive, against Madarame’s best efforts, and that is a feat in itself.” Akira huffs out a laugh, and Yusuke smiles, “You did plenty, Akira. You’re far from worthless.”

Akira clearly doesn’t agree, but he gets up from his keening chair and sits on the bed next to Yusuke.

“Thanks.” He says quietly.

“Of course, Akira. Next time, please come straight to me and talk. It’s been long enough that we’ve avoided each other like this.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“I apologize again for neglecting you. I was swept away in the excitement.”

“Hah. Yeah. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. But I am apologizing for it.”

“Okay. Okay. Yeah.”

They sit for some time, basking in their newfound closeness that they’d forgotten they’d used to have. Akira’s breathing evens out, face drying. It’s numbingly quiet, Yusuke’s small, cluttered room becoming their entire world.

Finally, Yusuke breaks the spell.

“You believed me quite quickly, about the Phantom Thieves and the Metaverse.”

“Well, yeah. ‘Course.” The answer comes immediately, and Yusuke nearly glows with his brother’s trust. He regrets his past rejection, however well-reasoned at the time, more every day.

Slowly, they remember how to breathe again. “So,” Akira continues, turning to Yusuke with a familiar glint in his eyes, “Tell me. What’s with the cat?”

Yusuke grins fondly.

“Well...”


	16. Tell the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for discussions of Madarame's abuse throughout the entire chapter, and a couple brief mentions of suicide.
> 
> If you want to skip those mentions, skip the rest of the paragraph after "It destroyed them emotionally," and then skip the paragraph after "in his room for a full week." Hope that helps!

June 7

From: ohyaichiko@jpmail.com  
To: kurusua@jpmail.com  
Subject: Re: Meeting

You sure we can’t meet at Crossroads? I’d suggest a different bar, but that one’s the most trustworthy and I know you care about that.

From: kurusua@jpmail.com  
To: ohyaichiko@jpmail.com  
Subject: Re: Meeting

I’m sure. I’m still rather present in the media, so if someone were to spot me in Shinjuku it would get a significant amount of negative attention.

From: ohyaichiko@jpmail.com  
To: kurusua@jpmail.com  
Subject: Re: Meeting

Fine, you’re right. But if we do this again later, you’ll come, right?

From: kurusua@jpmail.com  
To: ohyaichiko@jpmail.com  
Subject: Re: Meeting

We’ll see.

July 21

From: ohyaichiko@jpmail.com  
To: kurusua@jpmail.com  
Subject: Interview!

I’m looking forwards to interviewing you today! 

From: kurusua@jpmail.com  
To: ohyaichiko@jpmail.com  
Subject: Re: Interview!

I’ll see you there.

After school, Akira goes to his interview with Phantom Thieves stories still echoing over and over in his head. It’s a good thing this interview is specifically about Madarame, because it’s going to be hard to keep quiet if he’s asked about the Phantom Thieves too much. He _so_ wants to talk about it.

He’s a little conflicted, because he’s still really happy about last night, but he’s about to spend the next hour or two talking about Madarame. It leaves him in a weird, fuzzy little bubble of dread and joy.

His email conversation with the woman he’s about to meet proves her to be a different sort of reporter than he’s used to: she lacks all the blank-faced politeness of an experienced journalist and has none of the eager insensitivity of a stupid one. She tried to get a minor into a bar so she could drink while they talked.

He’s not quite sure what to make of her.

When he gets to the restaurant they’d agreed on, it’s not hard to find her. He’d originally wanted the diner, being easier and cheaper, but Ohya had vetoed it, saying it was too public. And Akira had said a hard _no_ to the bar. So naturally, they settled on the one restaurant that all important discussions end up taking place.

“Oh, Kurusu-san~!” Ohya waves with her whole arm when she sees him, despite the fact that she’s the only one on that side of the room and it’s clear that he can see her. The nearby sushi chef gives her a dirty look.

He smiles at her politely as he makes his way over and sits, dropping his school bag quietly on the floor at his feet. As much as he trusts this woman to be honest about the information he’s about to give her, he doesn’t trust her to accept a lack of manners.

“Hiii! So, did you wanna start right away or did you wanna order first?” She asks, not stopping for an answer, “Actually, let’s order first. I don’t get sushi often, you know!” Ohya grins wider than is normally considered professional, but still pulls it off somehow. Akira lets her make the decisions, and stays relatively quiet as they order. He’s not exactly hungry.

As soon as the man who took their orders leaves, Ohya turns to fully face him. “Alright, so what do you want to do?”

They go back and forth, talking about what they need to happen with the story Ohya’s going to put out, what Akira needs to tell her to make that happen, and what information Ohya’s superiors are going to make her present regardless of the boundaries they set. It’s a bizarre exchange, something he’s never seen in a journalist, and from what he can tell she’s not used to it either.

Journalists are meant to get what they need and present it how they want or how they’re paid to. The people involved rarely get a say, unless someone like Akira talks just the right way to trick the press into saying what he wants them to. But then, maybe Ohya’s not used to the victims—he hates the word, but there’s no better way to say it—reaching out either.

They work together this time, regardless of the reasons. They don’t really know what they’re doing, but Akira has serious social media sway and some connections still and knows how to use them and Ohya is experienced and connected and committed to her work. They’re powerful. They can’t really afford to cross each other.

The sushi arrives, and they pause to eat for a bit. Even as they eat, Ohya doesn’t stop taking the occasional liberal swig from a flask she pulls from her pack the way she’d been doing since he arrived, and honestly, he’s not surprised. The most he gives her is a mentally raised eyebrow, because while it’s easy to tell when someone really wants a drink, not many of them have the guts to actually get one in the afternoon in public.

When they’re ready, they start the actual interview.

“We’re gonna do this from the beginning,” Ohya warns, crossing her legs, “Just to make sure. My boss doesn’t like me very much right now, heh. So. You’ve seen Madarame’s full, filmed confession, correct?” At Akira’s nod, she continues, “Is everything he said there true? Is there anything he didn’t mention?”

It’s instinct to just shut down here, take in information like a tape recorder and spew generic answers until the reporter finally goes away. Whenever he’s done interviews in the past, his job was to get interest in whatever new exhibit Madarame was having, nothing more and nothing less.

But this one is important. It’s hard, but he concentrates and stays in the present. Mostly. If his face is a little too vacant, Ohya doesn’t mention it.

“Yes, everything he said was true,” Except for the lousy cover Madarame had made for Akira, “I think the only thing he didn’t mention in that confession was perhaps the extent that he abused his students.” It’s just the details, they don’t necessarily need to know, but that’s why it’s important. He wants to make sure people know this part.

“How so?”

“After you’re there long enough, you’re treated the same as all his other students. You have a quota of paintings to make for him, and you have to keep up any other responsibilities you may have, such as school, without raising suspicions about Madarame. If you don’t meet your quota, you don’t eat. If you cause Madarame to fall under scrutiny, you’re dropped. If Kitagawa or I, as wards, didn’t meet our quotas, then we also didn’t get our spending money, which covers school fees and meals.” He says it as if he’s said it a thousand times before, plain and factual.

“Some may wonder how this is considered abuse.” Ohya looks at him expectantly, without the fake pity. It’s a breath of fresh air.

“Keeping someone you’re legally in charge of from basic necessities like food is considered abuse,” Akira refutes. He’d done his research. Then he adds, “If your work is bad, he will berate you and guilt you until you create something that he considers worth his time. If you don’t finish in time, you’re locked in your room until you do. Due to the size of the quotas, students are rarely able to publish something under their own name, and when they do it’s only after intense inspection by Madarame. He didn’t want anyone recognizing the styles. It destroyed them emotionally,” Akira pauses, “I only know of some of the fates of those students after they left. But more than one of them committed suicide.” He doesn’t mention that one of them did so while they were still a student. There’s no point.

“Right.” Ohya nods seriously and jots something down in the notepad he hadn’t noticed her pull out, and then smirks at him wryly. “Just to make sure, none of the students are available to speak to?” She already knows the answer.

“They are not.”

“You’re the only one.”

“Yes.”

She taps her pen onto the paper a few times. “Alright, and how were you involved, if you weren’t an art student?” Another question she is unfortunately obligated to ask. They both already know. The world already knows.

“I was his ward. While I didn’t create art, I managed his social media and public appearances, and did the occasional hacking job for him, as was stated in the confession.”

“Right. Could you name all the artwork that Madarame has stolen over the years?”

“He hasn’t made anything himself in more than a decade. I can’t name the exact paintings, but anything less than thirteen years old is likely stolen.”

“And how many do you think that is?”

Akira doesn’t blink. “Hundreds.” Surprised by the speed of his answer, Ohya raises her eyebrows for a moment. He’d watched those works take the wrong names since before he’d even met Madarame. He’d lost count after twenty-something.

“Do you think we should give those back to their proper owners?”

“Unless someone specifically asks about it, I’m not going to do anything about it. I don’t think anyone else is either.” Akira really doesn’t think they’ll want them back at this point, anyways. Ohya makes a considering noise, but doesn’t say anything.

Then, “Anything more you want to add?” Akira stops at this. Ohya’s looking at him like there’s a possible answer to this thing, not just an afterthought of a simple formality. He didn’t prepare for this question, never prepares for something he’s never going to answer, but now he’s thinking about it. Could he give a sincere answer to this? ...Is there really anything he can say anyways?

No words can describe the feeling of Madarame standing over twelve year old Akira, hand weighing down on a small shoulder as a child frantically hacks a bank. There is no accurate way to narrate thirteen year old Yusuke’s confused panic when Madarame locks him in his room for a full week.

There is no proper way to describe fourteen year old Akira and Yusuke standing frozen in the doorway of another student’s room as a man swings from a rope attached to the ceiling.

“...No.”

He’s done his best. People don’t want to know what it feels like, to be scared and desperate and confused, or horrified and betrayed not ever really safe, especially when you should be. They want something to point fingers at, and he’s giving them that.

“Okay. Last question: the Phantom Thieves are supposedly the ones who caused Madarame to have a change of heart and confess. Do you believe they did it, and were they right to?”

In his mind, Yusuke displays accurate and powerful slashes with his plastic katana for him. Akira speaks carefully. “I think they were the ones who did it. After the calling card showed up, Madarame changed very abruptly. Before then, he never showed any remorse for anything he did. From what I know, that’s how the previous target acted as well.”

“And did he deserve it?”

“Absolutely.”

Ohya quirks her lip understandingly and nods. Then she takes a gulp from her flask, one a different colour from before, and turns away to finish off her sushi.

As Akira picks at the rest of his own sushi, Ohya says, “So I might have to talk to you again, about the Phantom Thieves. My boss let me take this one because you haven’t talked to anyone else, but I’m technically stuck on the Phantom Thieves case right now.”

Ah. Hm. “That... would be fine.” It would probably be better to control what the public knew about the Phantom Thieves anyways.

“Great! Here, use my phone number and just text me when you’re free. Emails are such a hassle.”

“Ah, okay.”

“And we’re going to Crossroads next time, right?”

“...Maybe. Don’t get your hopes up. I’m still a minor.”

“Pah, it’ll be fine!”

It’s not until they’ve paid, left, and parted ways that Akira notices he’d almost completely dropped the overpolite mask he always uses with the press and everyone else. Ohya’s far too casual for that, too earnest and serious when it matters. 

And tipsy.

It’s kind of hard to be intimidated when she’s nervously checking for staff while she drinks from her fanny pack.


	17. Goodbye Once More

Two days after Akira and Yusuke figure out the mess that is the Phantom Thieves, Akira leaves school early and goes to prison.

After a month of observation in the hospital, Madarame had been transferred into actual detainment to live out his long sentence. Akira hadn’t originally planned to ever see the man again, content to try to forget him for the rest of his life. But then things had come up and... well. He’s still not sure if he really wants to, but here he is.

He waits nervously in a blank, empty room. There’s a divider between him and where his former guardian will be, a guard nearby, and soon to be another guard when Madarame comes in.

Madarame has never attacked him in his life.

It’s the least safe he’s felt in ages.

There’s a soft click and Madarame comes shuffling in, looking almost as despondent as he had in his live confession. When he sees Akira, his face somehow manages to fall even more. Akira waits for him to sit.

“Akira, I’m so sorry, all these years—”

“Save it,” Akira bites out, because he’s heard it a dozen times from this man and it still doesn’t feel real, “I didn’t come here to have to deal with this again.” Surprisingly, Madarame actually does shut up. Akira pretends not to be unsettled by it.

When Yusuke had told him about the Phantom Thieves’ exploits, he’d told Akira what he’d found out about the Sayuri. Akira had decided to learn the rest.

“The Sayuri. What’s so special about it?” He’s not supposed to know what he does, so he has to lead Madarame to it. It’s a little heavy-handed, because he doesn’t have any sort of patience for the old man in front of him, but Madarame doesn’t notice. He blinks at the question.

“I-I, it was the best painting I’d seen in—”

“Why only counterfeit that one? Why was that one so special?” Madarame stutters a bit more before sighing, drooping miserably.

“The Sayuri was painted by Yusuke’s mother,” Madarame says, probably more talkative because of the guilt. Akira sits stonily, not giving a reaction. He knows this already. “I-It was a self-portrait of her and Yusuke, full of emotions that made it the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. But I covered the child up. The only way to make it marketable was to hide the identification and promote the mystery of it all! I’m—” Akira cuts off the snivelling.

“What, so it was just sentimentality?” He says severely, and Madarame’s eyes widen in what might be confusion, “You kept it around because it got you started? Or was it because it belonged to Yusuke, but you just didn’t want to give it to him?”

“I—”

“Why didn’t you ever tell Yusuke this? You confessed in front of the entire world, but you didn’t have the decency to tell your lifelong student what his mother looked like?” Akira keeps his voice as steady as he can. There’s no point in yelling, not when his former guardian is already as pathetic as possible, and yelling has never gotten anything important done.

He’s already exhausted. How long has it been? Five, ten minutes? The presence of the man in front of him is the most draining thing he’s ever encountered.

“I-I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t dare tell him—”

“Was Sayuri even her real name?”

“Ah—...n-no.”

“What was it?”

Madarame whispers it guiltily under his breath. It’s barely audible, but Akira hears it nonetheless. A name. Finally.

“Thank you for telling me something that Yusuke had had the basic right to know for his entire life. I can’t believe you never even told him his mother’s name.” Akira could probably have found it easily enough through government records, but there were other things he’d wanted to hear straight from his old keeper’s mouth. And, well, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted to shove it in his face a little.

“Akira, I-I’m so sorry, I—” Now that he’s gotten what he’d wanted, Akira has even less patience. He wants to be away from here. His voice is dead.

“I’d say to tell that to Yusuke, but I’m not making him come in here and talk to you.” If Akira could help it, Yusuke would never have to deal with the man again.

Madarame slumps, making a thin noise of acceptance as Akira gets up from the hard metal chair. Looking back at him for just a moment, Akira sees an old, defeated man, finally crushed under the weight of his crimes. It’s something he’d wanted since the day his father had come home with a brand new car, singing the man’s praises. It’s disquieting and pitiful, especially after his experiences with him in the past five years. And yet, for some reason he can’t shake the thought that he deserves so much worse.

He turns to leave, quiet footsteps echoing loudly in the silence, and Madarame doesn’t protest. After an hour in this room, he’s glad to finally, finally ditch this man to his fate.

When he goes through security again, they say he hadn’t even been in the room with Madarame for five minutes.

After he leaves the prison, school is almost over. He’d taken the rest of the day off, anyways. Almost without thinking, he takes a train to Yongen-Jaya.

However, when Akira plods slowly through the door, half a mind still on Madarame, there’s someone else already in Leblanc. 

“But you read the letter, did you not?” They’re saying to Boss. Neither of them seem to notice the strangled chime of the door as he halts it partway.

They’re both poised against each other, the silver-haired woman in a tense predatory pose that she’s trying to make look relaxed and Boss hunching over in rage. They’re far too reminiscent of people he’s spoken to at galleries and museums over the years, stark in his mind after today. On instinct, he freezes.

“I’ve told you; I don’t know anything. A ton of people have read that letter, it’s probably still on file over there! There’s no point in asking me.”

“So you won’t talk. You’re fine with your parental authority being suspended, then?” Akira... doesn’t bother thinking about the implications of what they’re saying. He simply takes it all in to process later, as he’s trained himself to do. Reacting in the moment never ends well.

“What!?”

“Considering your circumstances, it would be easy to take you to court over abuse charges. There’s no way you’d win.”

“Leave Futaba out of this, for the last time! She doesn’t know anything, and neither do I!”

“As long as there’s a chance that cognitive psience is linked to psychotic breakdowns, I’ll keep pressing. This is something we need to know.”

“Urgh, fine!” Boss throws his hands up in the air, “You won’t hear anything you think you’re gonna hear! That girl’s done nothing wrong, you keep her out of this. It’s bad enough you’re harassing us like this.”

“Thank you. I’ll contact you with details soon. The next time I visit, it’ll just be for the coffee.” With that, she turns to the door with the self-satisfied sway of a smug authority figure. Akira, still in the doorway, automatically bows his head and holds the door open for her. She doesn’t even acknowledge him.

“And stay out!” Roars out from inside.

Once she’s gone, Akira carefully closes the door behind him as he steps back into the café. He stands there for a moment, hand sitting on the doorknob as he lets it all come back and fit itself together in his mind. When he looks up, Boss is wide-eyed, having probably just noticed he was there.

“Akira—” He cuts him off.

“She can’t—” do that—but she absolutely could. Akira tries again. “Why—” because she could. What other reason is there? He gives up. There’s never a good answer. People aren’t like that. Panicked and a little desperate, he asks, “What did she want?”

Boss sighs, leaning back from where he’d been braced against the counter of the bar. His face softens.

“C’mere kid, sit down. You look like you’re gonna fall over.” Numbly, Akira obeys. When he finds himself in his regular seat, Boss moves to the side and starts up a coffee press. Inexplicably, it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Futaba’s not mine, you know that,” He starts, and Akira barely finds it in him to blink, still staring at the coffee, “Her mother... left a note, after throwing herself in front of a car, supposedly. That’s the letter she was talking about, if you were there for that part.” Akira manages a choked hum of affirmation.

“Now, this is the complicated bit,” Above him, Boss sighs, sounding almost as weary as Akira feels, “Wakaba, that’s her name, was doing some pretty strange research. Cognitive psience. The research itself disappeared ages ago with Wakaba’s death, but I guess some officials got a hold of it and figured it could be connected to the psychotic breakdowns. For some reason, they thought Futaba would know all about it and were trying to harass her about it.”

Slowly, with the smell of coffee in the air and the explanation filling out the details, Akira regains the ability to speak.

“Supposedly?” He looks up at Boss, who blinks back at him. His tense look melts into a wry smile.

“Hah, figures you’d pick that out... I really have my doubts on the truth of that suicide,” He focuses back on the coffee, “Her research was stolen too soon after for it to just be convenient, and well... you know, she told me one day. ‘I think I’m going to die.’ I thought it was a joke, and look where we are now. If only I hadn’t...” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, huffing out a deep breath before pouring out the brewed coffee and sliding it over to Akira.

“Look at me, spilling all this out. Here. Drink.” Akira does. It’s different from his usual blend, the one that Boss had made for him the first time he’d come. It’s stronger, a different flavour, and apparently just what he needed, because he feels so much better afterwards. He can think.

“Thanks.”

“You needed it. Something about that really freaked you out, huh?” Akira nods, looking away.

“I’m used to having to deal with people like that. It was practically my job, doing all the PR stuff and, you know...” He waves his hand uselessly, because his job had also been hacking banks and there isn’t really a connection there, but Boss grunts like he understands. “They weren’t fun to have to talk to. Just, the arguments, and I couldn’t really afford to lose, so. It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did.” Sometimes it had been the equivalent of life or death, but it was over now. He hadn’t even been part of the conversation.

“But it bothered you, and that’s what matters.” Boss leans over, bracing his forearms on the countertop. He looks just as tired as Akira feels. “Sounds like it sucked. You good now?” He nods at the coffee.

“Mm. Better, yeah.” Akira takes a risk. “What are you going to do about her?”

“What, the prosecutor? I told her I’d talk, so I’ll talk. There’s only so much to tell, and I wasn’t lying when I said she wouldn’t be satisfied. They bring up Futaba again though, I’m out of there.” Boss grunts again, looking off to the side. “Vultures.”

“But what if they don’t get what they want?” He’d said they wouldn’t. That’s great for any sort of criminal suspicion on Boss, but it isn’t good. People never believe you when you say you don’t have what they want, no matter how obviously true it is.

Boss levels a strange look at him. “Then they’ll have to look somewhere else. Listen, as much as they’re hounding me for this, they can’t do anything if I can’t give them what they want, okay?” Akira doubts that. There are ways to get around the rules.

But he’d like to maybe believe it, just this once. Boss says it so certainly, and it’s clear that he’d be able to hold his own. Akira doesn’t need to worry too much. He nods.

Boss pushes himself up from the counter with a groan, moving back towards the pot on the stove.

“Now, I’m guessing you came for your usual fix?”

“Ah, yeah.” Now that the confusing whirl of numbness and adrenaline brought on by the confrontation has faded, his body is reminding him just how drained he is. He hasn’t eaten since this morning, having skipped lunch for his meeting with Madarame.

When Boss passes it over, it tastes better than it ever has.

“Um, Sa-Boss, can I ask...” Akira’s not sure why he’s talking, it’s not his place, it’s nothing he needs to know, it’s an invasion of privacy, “Why would Wakaba-san’s research tie in with the mental shutdowns?”

Somehow, when he looks back at Akira, Boss doesn’t seem offended in the least. Instead, he moves to lean against the counter. His apron wrinkles where his hip meets the side of the counter.

“Hmm, Wakaba’s research was in cognitive psience. Weird stuff, and I really don’t know much about it. It was pretty supernatural, but it was all about going into your head. Beliefs and how you saw things. She said that there might even have been another world,” Akira jolts, “Yeah, like I said, weird stuff, but it seemed legitimate enough. Anyways, it’s the head stuff that caught the eye of Niijima back there.”

“N-Niijima?” The—

“Yeah, Niijima Sae, that prosecutor.” Boss frowns at him, “Don’t do anything to her or anyone else, got it? I know what you kids can do with names. I don’t care how well you do it, it’s gonna look suspicious and get you in even more trouble,” Then, to the room at large, he calls out, “That goes for you too, Futaba! You hear me?”

There’s a ding in both Akira’s pocket and Boss’. When he takes his phone out, he’s been added to a group chat with Boss and Futaba.

_Futaba: whaaat?? i wouldn’t do anything_

“Mhm,” Boss smirks, “I knew you were listening. Don’t do anything, got it?”

_Futaba: i wasn’t listening!!_

_Futaba: fine :(_

“Good. Hey kid, hurry up and get home. You look dead on your feet, and that coffee isn’t going to hold up forever.” Akira, still shoving his phone back into his pocket, salutes over his finished plate of curry.

“Thanks, Boss.”


	18. Let Me Choose

“Seriously, how are we supposed to find her?”

“I dunno...”

“And now the deal’s off? What are we supposed to do about Medjed now?”

Yusuke is content to sit back and watch the different dynamics at play as the rest of the Phantom Thieves argue amongst themselves. He personally has no preference on their course of action concerning Alibaba. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything they can do, at this point.

“I don’t care!” Ann jumps up from her spot at the railing, interrupting the round of head-scratching, “We should help Futaba-chan anyways! I don’t care about Medjed or Alibaba. Let’s just change Futaba-chan’s heart!”

“How would we do that, Ann? We don’t even know where to find her.” Ignoring Ann’s spluttering, Makoto continues, “It’s very possible, given the evidence, that Alibaba is Futaba herself. She may be tricking us.”

“For real!?” Loud as always, Ryuji looks up from his back-and-forth with Morgana, “But then why does she want her heart changed!?” Makoto moves into the natural pose she takes when giving orders before a fight. All of them focus on her immediately, and Yusuke wonders just how to capture that commanding aura. It’s clearly not just her posture, but the eyes as well. Are the clothes also an important element? But it’s a simple school uniform.

“Alibaba knows Sakura Futaba and wants her heart to be changed, but isn’t able to leave their house,” she counted off, “How would they confirm that her heart was changed, if not by either being her or living with her? Alibaba must be lying to us.”

“But we should still help Futaba-chan!” Ann remains steadfast in her opinion, and Makoto sighs.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t. But we don’t know where she is, either way. I’m just saying that we should be wary of her. That reminds me.” She turns to Yusuke, and he frowns under her attention. What could he possibly contribute to the problem at hand? 

“Kitagawa-kun, when we were fighting that shadow we couldn’t beat. That was Kurusu Akira, right?” Her eyes narrow in a familiar show of accusation.

“Yes, of course it was. Why do you ask?” He’d told them before, but then again he’d honestly thought they’d all forgotten by now. An impossible to beat shadow isn’t something that they could do anything about, and Alibaba had messaged Makoto again soon after. They’d had more pressing things to worry about.

“Oh man, him,” Ryuji remarks, looking up from Makoto’s phone, “He was way too hard to beat! D’you think we messed somethin’ up by not finishing the fight?”

“Hm, I don’t think so,” Morgana jumps up to Ann’s shoulder, “Nothing bad happened when we left, so we should be good. Shadows have run away on us before and nothing was messed up, remember? And it’s not like we really... hurt him much.” Or at all, really. Yusuke’s sure that the long, hard conversation just a few days ago had helped, but it hadn’t fixed everything.

He’d checked. Akira’s name still comes up on the Nav.

“Oh yeah! Did you talk to him, Yusuke? You said you were going to, right?” Ann asks as well, leaving Makoto to quickly become frustrated with the interruptions.

“What I was going to say,” She announces sternly after they’ve all been glared into silence, “Is that you should be careful around him, regardless of his shadow. It’s obvious that none of you saw the full version of Madarame’s confession, or you would have recognized him back when we fought him. Judging by the implications, he’s hacked hundreds of websites for Madarame, and stolen money from several of his competitors for him. Not to mention he’s covered up many of Madarame’s real-world dealings.”

Morgana makes a considering sound while Ann and Ryuji appear dismayed. Yusuke, however, fails to see the issue.

“I’m aware. Why should I be careful?” Akira had told him himself. They’d lived together for the past five years. Why would it be a problem now?

“Dude!? Isn’t he like, a real criminal? He did a ton of that hacking stuff!” Yusuke feels a flash of anger before he can stop himself. It’s not anything new to hear, but these are his friends.

But first— “Alibaba hacked Makoto’s phone. I thought we weren’t considering them a criminal?” Ryuji blinks, aggressive confusion stopped in its tracks.

“Uhh... wait, so that _was_ hacking? But I thought you can’t hack chats.” And now Yusuke is confused on top of his irritation. The rest of them, observing the exchange, seem just as perplexed.

“You can certainly hack chat groups. I’m told it’s rather easy.” Akira had done it for him when he’d panicked about these exact people, after all.

“Wha—bu—why didn’t you say so before when we were talking about it!?”

“I must have been distracted at the time; I apologize.” Yusuke honestly can’t remember talking about hacking at all today. He must have been watching the passers-by; sometimes their rote, synchronized movements can be mesmerizing.

“Wait, but if he’s a hacker, then why was he so sad about not being able to anything? He should be able to do a lot, shouldn’t he?” Ann sounds genuinely thoughtful, shifting to one side and looking up to the ceiling. Internally, Yusuke thanks her for that as he realizes the extent of what Makoto is saying.

Akira had told him that Madarame had listed off all of his crimes, but had only attributed a few of those to Akira, rather than the true amount. Makoto must have correctly assumed that Akira had done more than he had been accused of.

“I did speak to him,” He says before any more misunderstandings can take place, “He felt that he was powerless to do what he believed was the right thing to do, despite any power he actually had.” He doesn’t elaborate. It’s uncomfortable telling the others this much already, when it really should be entirely up to Akira to tell.

Around him, his friends still look reluctant. Even Ann, the least judgmental, still appears to believe that Akira really is a criminal who has committed the same number of crimes as Madarame, and is equally as guilty. But he’s not.

He hates it.

_“You should not have to restrain yourself like this, especially among friends,”_ Goemon points out, speaking for a rare moment in the real world, _“Isn’t that what your rebellion was for?”_

Sometimes, Yusuke still can’t risk speaking out against others. It’s too dangerous. It’s why the Phantom Thieves must operate in the shadows.

But here, he can. “He was just as much a victim as I was, perhaps even more. For the majority of the past four years, we were the only two living with Madarame; I got to know him quite well. While I was still regrettably oblivious to Madarame’s true face at the time, I knew that he did not ever, even remotely, enjoy or wish to do what he had been forced to do.”

He glances back at the people passing them mindlessly, who don’t care to hear a single thing he’s saying. If only they would. Yusuke has heard enough against Akira in the past days for just the few crimes that he had been exposed for on camera. Now that he knows to listen for it, he hears it everywhere. He’s tired of it.

“Madarame’s trial deemed Akira not guilty for his actions, considering the fact that Madarame had coerced him into performing them. He is no longer hacking websites or banks or sabotaging artwork, because it was only Madarame that had led him to do those things. He feels incredibly guilty about it, and I’d quite appreciate it if people could stop accusing him. It’s making it rather difficult to convince him that he isn’t a terrible person,” Yusuke sighs. He knows the rumors and hearsay alone don’t get to Akira much, if at all, but he doesn’t deserve it.

His friends haven’t moved, frozen except for their widened eyes. Yusuke doesn’t regret it. As much as he cares for them, this is something he needs them to understand.

“Woah,” Ryuji mumbles, breaking the shocked silence that had come over the group, “Didn’t know you could talk so much about anything other ‘n art.”

“Ryuji!” Ann hisses.

“What? I’m just sayin’,” Then, turning to Yusuke, “But it’s real cool you’re standin’ up for him like that, y’know? He can’t be that bad if you say so, Yusuke.”

“Yeah, that was a pretty long speech, Yusuke,” Morgana pipes up, frozen on Ann’s shoulder with one of her pigtails draped across his back, “It sounds like you’ve been holding that in for a while. Those comments really got to you, huh?” Ann, still squinting reproachfully at Ryuji, hums in agreement.

“Yeah, we kinda jumped to conclusions there, didn’t we? We aren’t really ones to talk anyways. Sorry, Yusuke!”

“Yeah! Like we don’t hold it against Ryuji whenever he almost gets us caught.”

“What, no I don’t! What’s that supposed to mean!?” As Ryuji and Morgana devolve into arguing once more, Ann shushing them, Makoto steps closer to him.

“I’m... very sorry.” Makoto finally says, assertive glare replaced by a guilty look, “I simply assumed, based on the video. I suppose all of this Medjed business has made me panicked. I shouldn’t have accused him like that, especially considering you didn’t hold it against me for very long...” Yusuke, now worn out and angerless, hardly thinks about it.

“Of course. You were only concerned. I’m simply... frustrated.” Makoto nods, at least understanding that sentiment. Before she can step away to settle the others, Yusuke stops her.

“That aside, Makoto, could you send me some pictures of those messages that Alibaba sent you? I have an idea.”

When Yusuke returns to the dorms much earlier than usual, he goes straight to Akira’s room. It’s become habit to check in on each other like this in the past few days. It’s something Akira had started, even more worried about Yusuke’s fights now that he knew about them and feeling more confident about visiting Yusuke’s dorm room. After Yusuke had gotten used to Akira’s sudden appearances, he’d started to do the same for Akira.

When he opens the door, Akira whips around in his chair to grin at him. It’s bright and infectious; Yusuke grins back.

“Yusuke! You’re back early today.” On his screen behind him, there’s a wall of glowing code, incomprehensible to Yusuke.

“Yes. Did I interrupt anything?”

“Oh, pff, no,” Akira glances back at his computer, contemplative. He taps at a few seemingly random keys before he says, “Oh, hey, since I’m assuming you’ve got time—” At this, he glances back at Yusuke, who nods, “—Do you want to go for an early dinner? Early for you, at least. There’s somewhere I want to show you.”

Yusuke’s agreeing before he even thinks about it, eager to make his past absences up to his brother. After he thinks about it, he still agrees. It’s been a long time since he’d had a cooked meal. There’s no time to learn how to cook after a long day in the Metaverse, after all.

“Great,” Akira bounces up from his creaking chair, “We’ve gotta take a train to Yongen-Jaya.”


	19. Take a Chance

Yusuke’s first impression of Yongen-Jaya is the narrow side roads Akira leads him through on their way to their destination. It’s quiet and humble, a comfortable if slightly foreign feeling in the air. Rather different from the pristine, bustling halls of Kosei or the wide streets of Shibuya by the old building they’d once lived in.

Akira greets everyone he passes quickly and neatly, in a manner similar to the trained way he’d greeted guests at shows but somehow much more genuine. He fits in here, Yusuke notes as he trails behind, Akira’s steps purposeful and rote where Yusuke’s are wandering. It’s clear that this is no random restaurant.

If even just for his brother’s contented familiarity with the place, Yusuke wants to come back here to paint.

“Okay, here it is.” Akira leads him to a little café that blends in perfectly with the surrounding area. There’s some element about it that he just can’t grasp, however, that shifts it ever so slightly out of the ordinary. As Akira reaches for the door, Yusuke looks up at the small awning.

“Coffee and curry?”

“Heh, that’s what everyone says,” Comes a new voice, “Wait ‘till you’ve tried it first. What can I get for you two?” Yusuke hurries into the building after Akira to see the man at the bar. He’s the epitome of a barista, stylish apron and whimsical colour choices to match.

He follows, somewhat bewildered, as Akira heads straight towards a seat in the middle of the bar. It’s a little odd to eat at the bar when there are tables free, but Akira looks pleased when Yusuke sits down beside him and he can’t bring himself to question it.

The café itself is a dark, warm colour, nicely balanced lighting working to create a calming atmosphere. The aroma of the curry he can hear simmering on the stove only adds to the experience. There’s only one blank space on the wall that nags at him, desperately calling for some sort of décor that it currently lacks.

“The usual for me, Boss. Yusuke?” Yusuke jerks back to see both Akira and the barista staring at him expectantly. What kind of combination does one expect from coffee and curry, though?

“Ah, I’ll just—have what you’re having, Akira.” The man in the apron nods, moving to work smoothly on a row of round coffee makers. Now that Yusuke is paying more conscious attention to the smell, he’s getting hungry. It’s become a rare sensation. Working in the Metaverse calls for constant snacking, and he hardly notices hunger pangs when he’s busy painting.

“So, this is Yusuke, huh?”

“Yup.” When Yusuke looks over in confusion, the barista nods a greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Kitagawa-kun. Your brother talks about you quite a bit.” While Yusuke blinks at the switch to ‘Kitagawa-kun’, Akira squawks.

“Hey, what happened to customer-barista confidentiality!? You can’t just tell my brother I talk about him!”

“Customer-barista confidentiality, with you? Means I’m the barista,” The man raises his eyebrows, “So I can tell anyone anything I want about you.” Akira splutters, and the man smirks.

“Nice to meet you as well...?”

“Sakura Sojiro. You can call me Boss.” A bit of a strange name. Yusuke doesn’t think he’ll call him that, not at first. This man is still too foreign, despite how well he seems to know Akira.

With Sakura still manning the coffee, Akira turns to Yusuke once more.

“Boss is a friend of a friend. Remember Futaba?” Akira had mentioned her a few times in passing, someone he spoke to on the internet. Yusuke hadn’t really understood the attraction of speaking online when you could meet in person, but Akira had appeared happy enough. The name feels familiar for another reason, but Yusuke can’t quite pin it down in the moment.

“Ah, yes. So this is Futaba’s father?”

“Just her guardian,” Sakura doesn’t even look up, “Futaba introduced us, so now it’s my job to make sure this kid knows what good coffee tastes like.”

“Yeah,” Akira smiles, “I come here... a lot.”

“Try every day, brat.” Akira pouts. It’s the most expressive Yusuke has seen him in years, save for the wide miserable smiles from just a few days ago. Yusuke tries not to remember those.

“It’s certainly a good place,” He contributes, “The ambience is soothing, and the colours are well chosen.”

“...Uh, thanks?” Sakura blinks, and Akira grins.

“I know, right? Just wait ‘till you try the food, it’ll make it even better.” He’s beginning to see why Akira wanted to show him this place.

“I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Mmm. Oh yeah, so how’s painting been going?” Akira hums, leaving Sakura to his coffee machines and turning to him, “You haven’t had as much time lately.” He gets more comfortable in his seat, leaning on his arms over the counter.

Yusuke is abruptly reminded of one of his more recent problems. “Well. I’ve actually encountered a bit of an artist’s block, lately. I’ve been fulfilling my regular quota for school, of course, but I find it impossible to create anything truly worthwhile in my eyes.” Akira’s eyes fill with confusion and concern, and Yusuke can tell that his brother has already figured out why he’s having difficulties.

“It’s not because of your paints, or the move, or something...?” He asks, looking for a reason that he’s wrong. Yusuke shakes his head.

“Unfortunately, no.” Akira looks down, contemplative. Yusuke does the same.

“What do you normally do about it?” Other than force himself to paint regardless of his personal satisfaction level in order to fill Madarame’s requests?

“I would... go out and find inspiration. I’ve been trying that so far, but this time it’s much harder to escape the slump.”

“Well, maybe I know a few places you haven’t been? I can give you a few suggestions.” Akira doesn’t go out nearly as much as Yusuke does now, and they both know that. Nevertheless, Akira smirks. “I mean, you’ve never been here, have you?” Yusuke laughs.

“Indeed. It’s a good start.” An idea forms, quick and brilliant. “Why don’t you come with me? Perhaps a new point of view will inspire me.” Akira lights up. “We can explore the many faces of the city together.” Sakura, still watching the conversation, still looks confused, but Akira always knows exactly what he means.

“That’d be fun. You sure you’ll have enough time, though? I know you’re busy...” Akira knowing about the Phantom Thieves is still jarring when it actually comes up.

“Of course. Art is always a priority to me. And besides, recent events have been rather calm.” They exchange looks, filling out the conversation hidden in their words. Akira has something similar to all the time in the world. Yusuke really, really wants to get to know his brother again. They know they’ve both been moving around each other lately. Akira doesn’t want Yusuke to push himself, but he knows that this art block means something important to Yusuke.

Talking about the Phantom Thieves’ work with someone not involved is new, but it’s not unusual that the two of them can say so much in so few words. Sometimes it had been the only way to say something.

“Okay, sure. You can text me when you feel like going out? I’m pretty much always free, you know.”

“Alright,” Yusuke says, and then there’s no time to talk as Sakura places two heaping plates of curry in front of them and finishes making the coffee.

It really is good food. He’s not used to such large portions, but Yusuke relishes the feast, focusing on the tastes and the feeling of his stomach being filled while Akira catches up with Sakura.

“How’s Futaba?”

“You know you can always ask her yourself.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. She’s doing the same as usual.”

“Mm...”

“She can talk to us when she’s ready. So, any particular reason you finally decided to bring your brother? Talk go well?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Does that mean you won’t be showing up every single day to pester me now?”

“Hey, I’m like your only business!”

Yusuke finally remembers to try the coffee when there are only a few spoonfuls of curry left on his plate, and when he does it’s amazing, if a little colder than it used to be. The only coffee he ever gets is for the caffeine level, not the quality or the taste. It’s difficult to control how fast he eats after that, but he wants to make sure he savours this.

“Hey,” Sakura says, looking over after Yusuke inevitably makes a sound at his first sip, “How’s the coffee?” Yusuke swallows.

“It is truly wonderful! I’ve never had such good coffee!”

“Your brother said that too, first time he was here,” Sakura squints, “Neither of you have any idea what good coffee tastes like.”

“Hey, I do now!” Akira protests, only halfway through his meal.

“You’ve had the same coffee every time you’ve come,” Sakura rebukes, raising an eyebrow, “You haven’t seen anything yet, kid. You see all those jars back there?” He sweeps an arm back to show the extensive wall of glass containers, each holding what looks like the same dark contents in slightly different shades, “Each one of those is a different coffee with a different taste. And you can blend those, too, to make new flavours.” He smirks.

“...Okay, maybe not _entirely_.” Akira mumbles into his coffee.

“You’ll just have to come back,” Sakura says, grinning, and Akira grins back. Yusuke watches as he finishes off his curry, realizing just how much Akira cares for this man. And just how much this man seems to care for Akira, despite likely not having known his brother for long. He smiles.

“I hope you wouldn’t mind if I come back for the curry as well, Boss,” Yusuke tries out the name, “It seems to be just as good.”

“I’d sure hope so.”

As Boss takes his emptied plate and Yusuke nurses his soon to be empty mug, he surveys the café once more. Others might call it small, but Yusuke has seen and worked in smaller. The jars behind the bar are a tasteful feature, a tribute to the function of the café. The wall beside it, however... it still stares at him, uncomfortably blank.

“Have you considered hanging something on that wall, there?” Boss and Akira turn to him, taking in the empty wall.

“I guess it is kind of blank.” Akira tilts his head, considering. Boss brings a hand up to his neck.

“Eh, I just never really bothered. Looks fine enough without, so I just left it.” It doesn’t look bad, really, but it would look much better with something there. Yusuke can’t find it in himself to let it go.

“Would you like something? I have several paintings that would fit the aesthetic.” Boss’ hand falls in surprise, but Akira just turns to him, unimpressed.

“Yusuke, you can’t give him your homework. You need to hand those in.”

“Nonsense, I’ve kept paintings that are no longer for school.” And from Madarame. But those were either abandoned because they were genuinely terrible, or his most coveted ones, hidden away so his teacher would never see them. He has a different one in mind. Akira knows only about his treasured paintings, though, and his expression becomes uncertain.

“Are you sure? Those ones are...”

“Yes,” Yusuke says simply, and turns to Boss, “I actually have a specific one in mind. It’s one I haven’t been able to display back in my room, so it would be nice for people to be able to view it.”

“I—well, if you’re sure,” Boss says, baffled, “It’s... not anything inappropriate, is it?” He looks hesitant.

“No, no, of course not.” He pulls up the picture he’d taken of it on his phone and shows him, “Here, it’s this one. What do you think?”

Akira pushes himself over the counter to see, hands on the bar top, and nearly falls off when he sees which painting Yusuke’s chosen.

“Akira, get off the counter, geez.” As Boss shoos him back into his seat, Akira stares at Yusuke, wide-eyed.

“That one? Are you sure? Really sure?” Well, not entirely, but he’s as sure as he can be when it comes to the version of the Sayuri that he’d gotten from the Phantom Thieves’ heist.

“Yes, I am.” He wants to take a gamble, to trust in this place that Akira feels safe in and that Yusuke himself is already coming to feel comfortable in. “It was made to be displayed and enjoyed, and there’s no benefit to keeping it wrapped up in my room.” Reluctantly, Akira nods. As one, they turn to Boss.

“Well, how am I supposed to say no now?” He sighs, frowning at them. “It looks pretty good, judging by the picture. Fine, bring it by when you get the chance and I’ll hang it up.”

“Thank you,” Yusuke smiles, “It is a... sort of family heirloom, you might say. It will be good to see it up again.” He hears a huff beside him, and he doesn’t bother looking to see Akira suppress a snort.

“You kids,” Boss shakes his head as he takes their mugs and Akira’s plate back, “How am I supposed to deal with you? First time here and you’re already redecorating the place.” Akira grins wide and gleeful, and it’s refreshing that Yusuke can tell that the man is joking.


	20. Inspiration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for implied suicide. If you want to skip it, jump from "because she's getting worse" to two paragraphs after.

After they all part ways for the day, Akechi’s television-ready voice ringing snidely in their ears and sushi gone just slightly sour in their stomachs, Yusuke goes to Inokashira park.

While what Akechi had said and implied lingers in his mind, there’s not much they can do about it. They have no mysterious hacker, and short of physically beating Akechi away from them—an option that Yusuke has not yet entirely abandoned—there’s no way of making the detective stay away and stop suspecting them.

What he can do, however, is combat his art block. The park is full of nature, flora and fauna interacting in a much more instinctive way and people returning to their true roots. Nature is the origin of everything, after all. Where better to start than here?

When he reaches the bench he usually sits at in the park, there’s someone already there.

Akira looks up from his phone and smiles.

Yusuke smiles back. “Were you waiting long, Akira?”

“Nah, not much. So, what did you want to do, Yusuke?” Yusuke simply sits down next to him, pulling out the sketchbook he’d brought.

“Let’s sit here and watch for a while. While I have tried this place before when I was alone, it doesn’t hurt to try this place once again. And I’d like to see if your presence changes my own perspective.”

Akira’s lips twitch. “Okay, then. You want talking or no?”

“Well, how else am I to know your observations?” Yusuke asks as he pulls a sketchbook out of his bag, “Don’t be silly, Akira.” He can see his brother’s shoulders shake in the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, yeah...” Yusuke straightens up in time to see Akira tilt his head back into the trees, a mirthful grin on his face. “Man, I don’t get out much, do I?”

He hadn’t been able to, before. Although Madarame would let up on Yusuke’s restrictions once he finished his month’s quota, Akira’s social media management was constant. Madarame had said he kept him in the building to ensure that Akira performed properly, but now he can’t help but think that it was so the man could request time-sensitive jobs from his brother whenever he so wished.

Yusuke turns slightly to capture his profile. “You’re attached to your screens as I am to my canvases. However, I have found the need to explore and observe the world around me. It could benefit you too, you know.” He outlines Akira’s mouth and jaw as quickly as he can, knowing that he won’t get many more chances.

“Mhm...” Akira doesn’t move, eyes shifting to watch Yusuke sketch his still form for a moment. Then, his gaze returns to the trees above them, “It’s nice here. Green everywhere, but somehow it isn’t boring. The light coming through between the leaves is a pretty classic look, isn’t it?”

“If by classic you mean overdone, yes,” Yusuke takes his time with the hair, messy and dark, harder to pencil in. “It has some potential, but people seem to think that they must do it as much as possible, and it’s ruined any possible effect for anyone else. I’ve done it before, but it gets boring quickly even for me.”

“Huh. I feel like it would never get old in real life.”

“An artist’s interpretation can change things.”

“Mm. Paint and nature always seem different, like they’re both living in different worlds. Even that photorealism stuff doesn’t really look the same as the actual thing.”

Yusuke starts shading. “I suppose so. Paint is inanimate, after all. Technique can only capture so much.”

“Yeah, I guess, but sometimes your paintings really do feel animate. I figured that’s the point, you know? You can’t get it exactly right, so you go in the opposite direction and make it alive in a different way. Art, ‘n all that.”

Akira’s sketch completed, Yusuke pauses. “Perhaps that is an advantage to the abstract style. I’ve never quite seen it that way.”

“When you care, Yusuke,” Akira leans forward, letting his head fall back down, “Your paintings always turn out like they’re alive. It’s easy to tell.” His eyes track a passing couple, cataloguing something about them the way that Yusuke sees the lines of their bodies and Makoto sees the strength in a person’s limbs.

“I must not have made many of those, then,” Yusuke replies after a pause, and Akira only smiles bitterly and breathes out into the green around them.

“What do you look for, when you’re people watching?” He asks instead, and Yusuke is happy to answer.

“Aesthetic, mostly. How they move, how they act, what they wear, and how it all ties together with their surroundings. People tend to be naturally at odds with their surroundings in a place like this, nature against factory-made clothing and artificial colours.” The two of them blend in only slightly better, darker colours not standing out as much.

“You like the contrast?”

“It’s a good study.” Akira hums, still watching the people around them.

“You could say that we contrast like that. You paint, I program. You’re abstract, I’m all technical. But we do both create, so I guess maybe not.”

“Opposite and similar at the same time. An interesting analysis. You truly do have some insight that I don’t, Akira.”

“What are brothers for?”

When they head back, Yusuke stops short at the entrance to the train station.

“Ah, that reminds me.”

“Yusuke?” Akira watches as Yusuke pulls out his phone, and realizes that they’re going to be there for a while. Grabbing at his arm, he drags a distracted artist off to the side, letting the flow of foot traffic move past them.

“I’d forgotten to ask you about this, but recent events have increased the urgency,” Yusuke says, eyes still fixed to his phone as Akira leads him to a nearby bench, “Someone hacked Makoto’s chat app recently. I was wondering if you could look at it.”

“Okay, sure...? Why is it so urgent, though?” He takes the offered phone, tapping at a chat log only to find that it’s a screenshot.

“They know about the Phantom Thieves,” Yusuke says, just as Akira reads that part, “And since Medjed has been threatening us, their offer to help us retaliate is our only option now.” Yusuke gestures to the phone like it’s self-explanatory, but Akira’s too busy choking on his own spit.

“I’m sorry—what? Medjed’s threatening the Phantom Thieves!?” He doesn’t remember doing that— “When did this happen!?”

“A few days ago, why? I figured you knew.”

“I-I was busy—” He had been busy, but that isn’t an excuse—how had he missed something so big!? “There’s no way that it’s the real—” Akira’s finger lands on ‘Alibaba’.

What.

Frantically, he skims through the texts again. He hadn’t really been reading the first time, just waiting for Yusuke to explain so he could tell him that he can’t do a whole lot with just a screenshot of someone else’s phone—which is probably how he’d missed ‘Sakura Futaba’ the first time.

His palm makes a loud slapping sound as it meets his forehead that is in no way satisfying enough for this situation.

“Futaba...”

“Yes,” Yusuke says, none the wiser, “They want us to change that person’s heart. I thought it sounded similar to your friend’s name, but I can’t quite remember it...”

“That’s—no. She’s... ugh.” Akira collapses onto the bench beside an increasingly confused Yusuke, sighing. “I don’t know why she’d do this...” He flips through the last screenshot before lowering the phone with a groan. “Yup, that’s Futaba alright.”

“Pardon me?”

“Futaba,” Akira begins, “ _Sakura_ Futaba, is my friend. She tends to go by Alibaba online, but she used to also work under the name Medjed.”

“Then—” 

“And she _tells me_ ,” Akira glares at the phone, “whenever she does something as Medjed. So this Medjed isn’t the real Medjed, but this is definitely Futaba as Alibaba.”

“Ah.” Akira burns holes into Yusuke’s phone with his mind, not bothering to look up as Yusuke stares at him. “...Why would she ask to have her own heart changed?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it?

“...Because she’s getting worse,” Akira’s anger drains, and he slumps back, tilting towards his brother. “She’s been a shut-in for years because of something that happened in the past, I’m still not entirely sure what, but now she’s—it’s getting worse,” He repeats, out of words. “Hallucinations. Her depression’s getting worse. She doesn’t even talk to me much anymore, I can’t—I can’t tell if she’s going to—” Touma not showing up for dinner three days in a row. Akira and Yusuke, going to get him, because meals like those were rare and Touma really couldn’t afford to miss so many of them.

Madarame’s rust box had always had exposed rafters.

Akira drops the phone into his lap before he breaks it, flexing his hands like he could grab the words he needs out of thin air.

“I can’t stop her if she doesn’t talk to me. She—she might know a bit about your methods, honestly, I’m pretty sure her mom’s research was on the Metaverse, that might be why she asked you. Depression’s like a distortion, right?” He doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, just words coming out, “I don’t—”

“Akira.” Yusuke’s closer, now, shoulder pressed to shoulder as he speaks. “Do you want us to help her?”

Air hisses through clenched teeth. “Yeah.”

“Then we’ll help her. We couldn’t, before, because we didn’t know how to find her. Now we can.”

“...Thanks.”

“I’ll introduce you to the others tomorrow after school, and we can go from there.”

“Okay. Yeah.”

In silent agreement, they get up and go back to the station. Yusuke remains a steady presence at his side as they board, and Akira leans against the wall of the train by the door.

Once the train starts moving, he yanks out his phone and stabs aggressively at the group chat.

_Kira: You know you could have just asked me_

_Kira: I could have just told Yusuke and they could have gotten started faster_

Akira doesn’t bother with an explanation. Futaba doesn’t need one.

_Baba: i wanted to do it!!_

_Baba: and I don’t want them to anymore_

_Baba: they need to come in n im not ready for that_

_Baba: im sorry_

_Bossjiro: What’s going on?_

_Kira: I’m talking to them tomorrow about it_

_Baba: what no!!!_

_Kira: Too late already scheduled_

_Kira: We might come over idk yet_

_Kira: But prepare yourself_

_Baba: kira nooo pls_

_Baba: please I don’t want them to come_

He knows Futaba’s fear. He understands it himself a bit, even. But it’s a way to help her, and maybe if he’s there it won’t be so bad. Maybe he can finally do something.

Kira: I have to they’re freaking out ok

Well. If he knows them at all, they’re absolutely freaking out. He just doesn’t know for sure yet.

_Kira: Theyre gonna do something stupid_

_Kira: Itll just be leblanc probably_

_Kira: Boss its not decided yet but I might have to bring Yusuke and his friends over tomorrow_

_Bossjiro: That’s fine, why do you need to warn me ahead of time?_

_Kira: I’ll let you know tomorrow when I find out, but if they do have to come over its gonna be a sensitive subject_

_Bossjiro: What, you want me to close?_

_Kira: Might come to that yeah_

_Bossjiro: If it’s after school, I hardly get any customers then anyways. I guess it’ll be okay, brat_

_Bossjiro: But seriously, what is this about?_

_Baba: im sorry ok_

_Kira: Its fine baba_

_Kira: I’ll tell you then_

Akira puts his phone away, people informed and friend reassured, and stares into nothing for the rest of the ride.

_Bossjiro: Kids, really?_


	21. It's Time

_Yusuke: Everyone, I’m bringing Akira to the meeting today._

_Ann: huh? why?_

_Ryuji: ur hacker bro?_

_Ryuji: he gonna help us w medjed?_

_Ann: oh yeah!_

_Makoto: So you were able to show him Alibaba’s texts?_

_Ryuji: oh yeah that too_

_Ryuji: y didnt we think of that sooner_

_Ann: good idea!_

_Ann: so he’s going to help us with medjed instead of alibaba?_

_Yusuke: I asked him to look at Alibaba’s hacking, but he says that he is unable to do anything unless he has access to the actual device_

_Yusuke: Would it be okay if he looked at your phone today, Makoto?_

_Makoto: Yes, that’s fine._

_Ann: cool! can’t wait to officially meet him!_

_Ryuji: yea see you then_

“Just so you know,” Yusuke starts as Akira meets him outside Kosei, “They think you’re coming to help with the hacker Alibaba. They came to the conclusion on their own, and I didn’t bother correcting them.”

Akira smirks. “Well, they’re not exactly wrong. I will be.” They start walking to the train station, and Akira remembers that there is more than one hacker involved. “I should probably do something about that copycat Medjed too, huh?”

“If you’d like. I believe your friend could also do it, since she offered and is the original one, but there’s still some time before the deadline they imposed on us. You could afford to wait, either way.”

“True.” Their school isn’t that far from the station, but the length of the walk is enough time to make Akira think. These people he’s about to meet know almost nothing about him, except for what they’d apparently seen from his shadow. His shadow, so convinced that he was useless that he couldn’t even lose when it mattered. It isn’t wrong, but. Well, not the best introduction. Akira has watched them through cameras for months, but all he knows about them as Yusuke’s friends are what his brother has mentioned in the past few days. It’s not much.

“What do they... think about me? Right now?” Akira asks, because suddenly he really needs to know what to expect.

“I haven’t mentioned you very much,” Yusuke answers, “They have, however, seen your shadow the same as I have, though it appears as if they’ve forgotten it somewhat with Medjed’s announcements. Makoto has also mentioned the ending of Madarame’s confession, inferring that you had done more jobs than necessarily stated.” Right. His shadow, and the fact that he’s performed hundreds of criminal acts. Definitely going to look good to a group of justice-driven vigilantes.

“But what do they _think_ of me?” He presses, because you can draw many, many conclusions from just one piece of information.

“They’re excited to meet you,” Yusuke says, smile in his voice as they reach the station, and that’s that.

The group they walk up to in the accessway is intensely familiar to Akira, although it’s different now that he can actually hear them. There’s no point in the cameras having microphones in busy places like this, so while the presence of Sakamoto’s loud voice doesn’t surprise him in the least, hearing it does.

They look incredibly natural just standing by the railing—you’d never be able to tell that these random high schoolers were the dubiously famous Phantom Thieves just by looking.

“Hello, everyone.” Yusuke raises a hand in greeting, and Akira watches a well-known fondness fall over his face. The others welcome him loudly and cheerily, and he can’t help but grin as well. It’s infectious.

“...And this is Akira.” Then it’s Akira’s turn for the onslaught of friendly greetings, loud and just slightly overwhelming. They really are excited to meet him.

“Kitagawa-kun said that you would be able to help with someone that has hacked into my chat app,” Niijima says, looking just a bit wary of him, and Akira nods.

“Yeah, I just can’t really do much with only screenshots.” They hadn’t even had the chat client or Niijima’s username. While he could probably figure it out eventually, it would take far, far too long. If he didn’t already know who it was, of course. “Could I see the messages?” Yusuke must have told them ahead of time, because Niijima is already handing him her phone, open to Alibaba’s messages that he’d seen before.

As he scrolls through to make sure he’s seen everything, Niijima pipes up hesitantly, “We were also hoping that you could, ah, find out who it was.”

“The hacker?”

“Yes.”

Still bent over the phone, Akira can barely see Takamaki’s eyes widen, before she blurts out, “By the way, they call us the Phantom Thieves, but we’re not, obviously, haha! They must have gotten the wrong guys!”

When Akira looks up in confusion, Sakamoto adds, “Oh—yeah. Man, though, it would be cool if we were, wouldn’t it?” He’s not sure if it’s loud on purpose, or if Sakamoto is just like that.

When Morgana jumps from Takamaki’s shoulder to Sakamoto’s to swat at him with a paw, it’s all the confirmation he needs. Yusuke’s still distracted watching people beside him, and Akira is not doing this here.

“Yes, we’re not sure why they’re calling us the Phantom Thieves. They seem to be, ah, very set on it,” Niijima says hastily, as Takamaki hisses at the other blond behind her.

Yeah, he is not doing this here.

“Well, I could trace the IP for this hacker to find them, but since it looks like they’ve disconnected since contacting you, I’m gonna need my laptop for this. If that’s alright?” Niijima clearly has no idea what he’s talking about, but nods nonetheless and Akira grins wide, looking polite and eager to work. “Okay, how about we move somewhere I can set up? I just need a bench or something.” The others, drawn from their bickering, agree immediately and Akira herds them away from the giant windows, throwing out programming terms as they go.

Yusuke doesn’t say anything, following and trusting that Akira knows what he’s doing, even if he’d apparently forgotten to tell the others that Akira knows that they’re the Phantom Thieves.

He does indeed set up in an out-of-the-way hallway, on the one bench there while the others crowd over him.

Then he hesitates.

Pulls out his laptop, turns it on.

Connects it to the phone.

...And stops. The others don’t seem to notice, but Akira can feel Yusuke watching him as he stalls.

For some unknown reason, he’s scared. He doesn’t want to make these people think badly of him, even though if anything he should be disapproving of them, the notorious vigilantes performing magical, benevolent lobotomies, who are accidentally trying very hard to reveal their secret identities. From what he’s heard, they hadn’t exactly given Yusuke the best first impression either.

He takes a breath. Lets it out loudly, raising his head to make some equivalent of eye contact with each of them, even the cat.

Then he speaks very bluntly, because he doesn’t think they’ll get it any other way.

“So. I could hack in, trace something, whatever. But. I’m not going to. Because... I already know who Alibaba is, and who Sakura Futaba is, and how to get to her. And I have known for a while now that you’re the Phantom Thieves.” He only gets a few wide eyes until the end, where there’s a sudden burst of noise coming from several mouths before he can even finish saying their group’s name.

“Uhhh—” 

“We’re not—”

“Whaddaya mean, you know—”

“Mrrow!?”

“You knew!?”

“What—”

“Explain, please.” Niijima demands finally, and Akira leans back, disconnecting the phone and handing it back. She doesn’t take it.

“I know who Alibaba is,” He repeats, “I also know who Sakura Futaba is, and I’m willing to help the Phantom Thieves reach her. I know that you are the Phantom Thieves. I’ve known since you stole Madarame’s heart.”

“How did you know?” Niijima demands, looking far more natural than her sister had when the woman had cornered Boss the other day, “Did Kitagawa-kun tell you?” Akira accepts the interrogation. It’s a bit more overt than he’s used to, but that just makes it easier to answer.

“I figured it out myself when I caught you all on camera, many times. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together, especially after I watched Morgana put up the calling cards.” There’s a meow at that, but nobody really reacts, so Akira assumes it’s not important.

...He’s still getting used to the idea that the cat can talk.

The Thieves look confused, so he adds, “There was a camera there. I’d already seen him picking the lock to Madarame’s room, so I was looking for it, but security didn’t notice that you were actually putting in the thumbtacks and everything because they weren’t even expecting a cat in the first place.” He switches to talking to Morgana directly partway through, and he’s not sure how to read emotions on a cat—a fact that he can’t believe makes him nervous—but he looks like he’s feeling some mix of happy and uncomfortable. “Not to mention that same cat belonged to you.” Which is the obvious part.

“...I see.” Niijima finally says, putting her hand on her chin. It’s clear that she doesn’t know how to react to this, but that’s fine, because Akira doesn’t know what he’s doing right now either.

“...With that said, I have a request.” His laptop and cable are long shoved back into his bag, his posture what adults would call that of a ‘polite young man’, “I want you to change Futaba’s heart.”

He tenses, noticing his mistake now that it’s too late to say her full name like he doesn’t actually know her, but the Thieves don’t mention it. “You want us to change her heart? But uh... weren’t we already going to do that?”

“I don’t know. But I want to make sure you do.” Forget pretending he doesn’t know her. “She’s someone important to me. She needs it. Please.” Yusuke’s been quiet this whole time, and Akira appreciates it. The others are loud enough on their own.

They’re all quiet when they agree. “Of course.” Niijima-san states, finally taking her phone back, and that’s it. The others nod vigorously, beaming like they hadn’t just been panicking over their biggest secret being revealed.

Akira smiles. “Well then, if you’ve got the time, I’ll show you where to find her right now.”

_Kira: Were coming over_

Sojiro sighs at the text, but it’s not like anyone is in the café right now anyways. Another slow day. It’s a simple matter to walk around the bar to the door and flip the sign, but he’s tempted to complain about it anyways. Neither of the kids have explained what’s going on yet—he has a right to all the loud grouching he wants.

He gets out the beans for Akira’s usual, along with his own. If the brat is using his café as a secret meeting spot, then Sojiro is going to be there for it, and if he’s going to be there for it then he’s not doing it without coffee.

It takes a while to actually get around to the action of brewing it, because Akira had sent it into the group chat and now Futaba’s panicking, so he stops to reassure her about this nebulous meeting that he still doesn’t know about for some reason. It’s starting to worry him, considering how much they’re both reacting over it, when Akira very carefully doesn’t react to anything and Futaba is fully confident in the security of her room. But Futaba eventually subsides, maybe accepting the inevitability of a determined friend, and _then_ he makes coffee.

It turns out to be for the best anyways, because he’s just setting a cup out in Akira’s usual spot when the boy himself walks in, trailed by an impressive four other teens, one of which definitely has a cat in her bag.

“What did you do, kid?” Akira smiles at him the same way he had when he’d first showed up—politely tense and nervous and determined and maybe a little excited. He sits and takes his coffee without a word, sinking into the bar chair as much as physically as possible, and then some. Sojiro will be the first to admit that those chairs are not sinking-into material.

The others follow suit, staring at him nervously like he’s got the secrets to the universe, until they’re distracted by Akira, who’s pulling out his laptop and setting it up like they always do when they have a three-person conversation with only two people present.

He can’t help but notice that it’s very deliberately not easy for the others to see.

The awkward silence persists just a moment longer, and then, “So, these are the Phantom Thieves.”

“Kurusu, what—”

“Ahahah, no, of course we aren’t, whaaat...”

Sojiro just blinks, because of course his kids would run into the Phantom Thieves. They’ve already got one vigilante group going, what’s one more? “Seriously?” Akira nods. “Even your brother?” He nods deeper. “These kids?” Akira gives him a look, and yeah, okay, he shouldn’t be that surprised considering the kids he already deals with on a daily basis, but still. The Phantom Thieves?

He raises an eyebrow and takes a better look at them all. They finally stop their very, very bad protests at _not being the Phantom Thieves, no not at all, though it would be cool but we’re not, really!_ when he raises the eyebrow a little higher. Even as they quiet down sheepishly he can see the familiar righteous fury in their eyes. They’ve certainly got the capacity to be vigilantes, although they look like they’d be better fighting than blackmailing.

“And why did you bring the Phantom Thieves here?” He finally asks, resigned. Why did he ever think getting another computer genius kid was a good idea?

Where did the math go wrong? This is way more trouble than two brats are worth.

“Futaba wants them to change her heart,” What? Akira watches him uncertainly as Sojiro splutters, “They use the Metaverse from Isshiki-san’s research to remove cognitive distortions, so it might work. But I just thought you should know.”

These _kids_.

And Wakaba’s research, too, how is he so sure? There’s no good way to answer this—how is he supposed to agree to some random high schoolers metaphysically lobotomizing his adopted daughter? But at the same time, how does he say no?

Futaba saves him from saying anything with a loud ding that interrupts the silence. He turns to the laptop with relief that’s probably far too obvious.

_Baba: so they steal my distortion from my cognitive world?_

“Yeah,” Akira replies, and they both ignore the hissed why’s he talking to the computer in the background, “There’s a ‘treasure’ at the core there, which is the root of the distortion. If they can get in and remove it, it’ll be gone for good.”

_Baba: and ill be better?_

“It’ll remove the distortion that’s making things so hard, but there’ll probably still be something. You haven’t been out in a while, you know.” A while is an understatement, but somehow it makes Sojiro feel better that it’s not an ultimate cure-all. It had seemed too easy, the magical way to fix all of their problems. The way Akira’s talking about it, the Phantom Thieves would effectively be curing his daughter’s depression, maybe the agoraphobia. But...

“She won’t be turning out like those other targets of yours?” He asks, glaring down the Phantom Thieves even if he doesn’t expect them to answer. The girl that’s probably the leader is looking incredibly confused, eyes widening in askance when his glare meets hers.

It’s Akira’s brother that answers. “Those targets were overcome with guilt at their actions, as they should have been. Their distortions were keeping them from understanding that they should have been feeling guilty at all. We’ve hit some smaller targets that didn’t make the news, and they didn’t react the same way.” Glancing towards Akira, he adds, “We think it should be fine.”

They’ve clearly talked about this. If he’d had any doubt before, this entire scene with the supposed Phantom Thieves is enough to prove that Akira gets it. Gets why Sojiro is concerned.

Akira doesn’t notice Yusuke’s look, still focused on the laptop. “Do you still want to do it, Futaba? They’ll have to come to the house, and knowing the cognition thing, they might have to come into your room.”

_Baba: ill do it!!_

_Baba: i wanna be better and hang out with you guys!!!_

_Baba: ...ill figure out the room thing if it comes to it_

Akira looks at Sojiro next. He’s anxious, but Sojiro can tell that they’ll just go ahead and do it anyways whether he approves or not. He’s hesitant, has so many doubts about this, Wakaba’s research had gotten her in trouble for a reason, but—ugh.

“Fine,” He groans, and some of the tension falls out of Akira’s shoulders. “But I can stop you whenever I want, alright?”

Akira’s relieved smile makes it hard to stay grumpy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting busier so updates are going to slow down a bit—I'm going to try for _at least_ once a month though.


	22. No Need to Ask

“Okay, so,” Akira begins, holding up his phone so Futaba can hear through the call, “How is this going to work?” They’re all standing right outside the Sakura residence, five of them and a cat crowded around the gate. The people passing by are probably staring, but Akira’s right in the middle of the group, so he can’t tell. “I know a few things that Yusuke’s mentioned, and Futaba’s brought up some of Isshiki-san’s research before, but how do the Phantom Thieves work?” He says it quietly, unlike the Thieves themselves, and so nobody outside of their group notices.

“We have an app,” Niijima-san starts, equally quiet as she pulls her phone out again, “It allows us to access the Metaverse as long as we enter valid coordinates: a name, a place, and a distortion.” She looks uncomfortable; while the group had gotten over the fact that three more people suddenly knew their secret rather admirably, it doesn’t help that they now have to explain it all to those people.

Still— “You can’t just go wherever you want? You were everywhere in Shibuya.” The entire group winces collectively—another reminder that Akira knows way too much about them.

“Yes, well, that person’s—Kaneshiro’s distortion covered the whole of Shibuya, so we could go anywhere within that area.”

“Are they more powerful if their distortion takes over more space?” He presses. They can’t afford any mistakes with Futaba. From what he can tell, this is their first non-malicious target. It’ll be different this time.

“We... don’t know,” Niijima-san replies thoughtfully, exchanging looks with the other members, “It seems to depend more on the strength of the distortion, rather than the power of the person themselves, though.”

“Yeah,” Sakamoto adds in a more regular volume, “But it’s not like it matters in the Metaverse, anyways. It’s totally different there!”

Akira bites the inside of his lip, still worried. There’s nothing he really needs to ask; he’d gotten a basic rundown from Yusuke earlier and he and Boss had grilled them before in the café. He’s just asking irrelevant questions now. He’s nervous.

“Okay,” He says. He almost says it again, but he’s able to stop himself. He can tell he’s already visibly worried, there’s no point in strengthening that image. “This is your first target that wasn’t doing something morally wrong, though, right? Does the process change?”

The cat meows a few times, and they all nod. “Yeah, and there was—uh...” Takamaki turns the slightest bit towards him, biting her lip. Morgana meows again.

“...My shadow?” Akira more clarifies than guesses, it’s so obvious, “I was pretty clearly doing some illegal stuff.”

“Yeah, but your distortion wasn’t the illegal stuff, I don’t think?” Sakamoto frowns, rubbing his head with a hand. “It’s complicated, I don’ really get it. Uh—speaking of, did I just miss it or... What’s Sakura’s distortion, again? You said she hasn’t done anything nasty, so...?”

As one, they all blink.

“Did that... really not come up yet?” A muffled snort comes from the phone, the first sound Futaba has made the entire time. “Really?” Akira stares down at the ground in disbelief, because—how hadn’t they noticed? Were they all just going along with this without knowing why? Why would they even—

“Actually, yeah.” Takamaki breathes into the shocked silence, “What _is_ her distortion?”

“Well, it’s—” Akira’s way too familiar with being cut off by a notification sound, because he stops immediately. At least it’s for good reason, most of the time. “Futaba wants to do it herself.”

_Alibaba: yeah!! okok_

_Alibaba: so a distortion is something that affects your point of view unnaturally right? like a filter_

_Alibaba: ive probably got depression and agoraphobia and probably some other things that fit that description_

_Alibaba: its keeping me from leaving my room_

_Alibaba: but idk it sounds too simple to be that_

_Alibaba: i couldnt get all of moms research either so_

_Alibaba: and as for what i view it as_

_Alibaba: it would be this house_

_Alibaba: as_

_Alibaba: um_

The messages come quick and it’s only when she pauses that the others can read them. “So it’s a regular distortion, then,” Takamaki hums, and Akira’s really not sure what to take from that.

“We’ll need a distortion in terms of how she views the house for the coordinates, however,” Yusuke finally speaks up, but no more messages come.

“Futaba?” Akira asks the screen softly, “What do you see this house as?”

_Alibaba: this house will be my tomb_

Akira’s face tightens up, ready to protest, but Niijima-san is already entering the word into her phone.

_“Candidate found. Select -yes- to begin navigation.”_

Hours later, Akira has finally accepted that the Phantom Thieves’ normal excursions take too long to wait for and that this time wouldn’t be any different. He’s curled up in the creaky chair he’d never bothered to replace in his dorm, tapping away at some preliminary research for the copycat Medjed that’s threatening them when the door opens.

“Akira.” Yusuke looks tired, and that’s the only reason that Akira controls his reaction to his brother’s appearance.

“How’d it go?” He’d told himself not to get his hopes up, the other targets had taken weeks, but it hadn’t entirely worked.

“We... have a start. It’s going to take some time to get through, but we’ll make it.” Yusuke smells strangely of sweat, and his shirt looks damp.

“...Why are you so tired?”

“Ah,” Yusuke runs fingers through his bangs, blinking heavily, “A consequence of the trade, I suppose. Although this time was especially difficult. Sakura’s Palace was in the middle of a desert, and the weather appeared to match. We were not prepared. I’m glad you insisted that we enter from inside the courtyard—it saved us quite a bit of distance traveling to the Palace itself.”

Akira had wanted them to do it from inside the house itself, but had settled for the area inside the walls of the exterior gate. Boss hadn’t trusted them inside the house itself, and it would have been a hassle to have him come and let them in every day anyways.

“I wasn’t going to let you pull your disappearing act out in the open again,” Akira narrows his eyes at his brother, “You gonna be okay getting to your room? You look dead on your feet.”

Yusuke waves him off. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been functional far past this point, you know.” He did. They’d both had to be, to get enough done back then.

“You shouldn’t have to, though.”

“I’ll be fine, Akira. Goodnight.”

Akira sighs, defeated. “Goodnight.” Despite that, he smiles. They hadn’t been given the chance to say that before, either.

_Joker: So do you wanna help?_

_Alibaba: ?_

_Joker: Medjed copycat_

_Alibaba: hm sure_

_Alibaba: actually,,, i wanna try something_

_Alibaba: can i call you_

_Joker: Are you sure?_

_Alibaba: if theyre gonna have to come into my room then i should prepare!!_

_Alibaba: i can work up to it with this_

_Alibaba: and besides i should be doing it anyways_

_Joker: Ok_

_Joker: Now?_

_Alibaba: yeah!!!_

_Alibaba: um_

-Joker started a call-

“Hello? Futaba?” It’s completely silent on the other end—he can’t tell if she’s muted or just quiet. “...Baba?” He tries. There’s a stuttered squeak from the phone’s speaker, and he smiles. “You’ve got this.”

He is so proud of her for this. They’d only ever spoken through text before, and even in the café she’d only been hearing them in Leblanc and responding through text. It rankles him a little that he hadn’t been the one to lead her to it, but any progress is exciting, and he can’t bring himself to truly hate the Phantom Thieves for this.

“H-hi! Akira!” Bursts from the phone, and he grins wide, hidden in his dorm. “Umm...”

“Hi, Futaba. How’s it going?”

“...Uhm, good, I think... this isn’t as bad as I thought...”

“That’s awesome.” His face hurts, smiling down at his phone so hard. His sister is doing so well.

“Um! Okay. So. Uhh... what do we do now.” The last part is mumbled and quick, but not too anxious. Akira’s face isn’t used to this.

“Well, you said you wanted to help with our copycat Medjed, right? Let’s just work on that.”

“Okay, yeah! Yeah, I can do that!” It’s hard to push down the rising joy and pretend to focus on work. Suppressing it from his voice just makes room for more to flood his head.

“Okay, so I’ve got some research done already, it looks like they’ve gotten quite a few smaller companies as some sort of threat for the Phantom Thieves...” They work for a while, looking for members of this new Medjed and talking through the code left behind in their smaller exploits. They find out that it’s easier to discuss out loud while they’re coding, rather than stopping to type every time they need to say something.

A few hours in, during a slow period where they’re looking for another of the hacked companies to analyze, Futaba asks about her Palace.

“Yusuke didn’t tell me much, he was really tired when he got back yesterday,” Akira tells her, not even questioning if she’s supposed to know this or not, “And they all went in right away after school today. But he said it’s a giant pyramid in a desert.”

“Oooh, my distortion’s big, huh? I wonder if that’s a good thing...”

“No clue. I don’t think they even know. Actually, there’s a lot they don’t seem to know, even though they’re the ones using it.” Akira goes through a few clickbait articles, to no avail. There’s a wiki page with a list of all supposed victims of Medjed, but they hadn’t bothered sorting through which copycat group did what, so it’s useless.

“Mhmm. Well, they didn’t really research it like M-Mom did, so... Hey, is it hot there? It’s a desert, right?” Futaba types out what sounds like an entire paragraph, judging by the keystrokes he can hear over the phone.

“Really hot. Yusuke came back soaked in sweat.”

“Eww, nasty. Why didn’t they just use items? Geez.” Akira pauses.

“Items?”

“Well, yeah. You said they have, like, model guns that work, right? And Yusuke has that dinky lookin’ sword. _Obviously_ they could just use items.”

“Like in a video game?” Yusuke had said that they'd brought food in that had special properties, so maybe that _had_ worked like a special item. He’s not sure, though.

“Ughh, I swear, ‘Kira, you don’t know nearly enough. There’s always stuff to keep you from overheating when you go to the desert! Otherwise you’d die, duh,” Futaba huffs.

Akira gives up on his quest for their target copycat’s escapades. “I don’t think they have anything like that. It might work, though? I mean, they did say that as long as you believe it works, it works. ...What if we get them some?”

“It’ll be an experiment!” Futaba cackles evilly, “Yeah, do it! Just get them some cheapo item and tell them it’ll work, and bam! Ultimate upgrade, no farming required!”

“I’m gonna do that then. Hey, you mind working on your own for a bit? I’m gonna go pick up some stuff while the trains are still running.” He already knows what he’s going to get.

“Yeah!” Futaba cheers, “You gotta tell me how it goes, okay? We’re research partners!”

Akira gets back an hour later with a handful of slip-on beaded bracelets, exactly 600 yen poorer. He’s more excited for Futaba’s sake than his, but it doesn’t hurt that he can help the Thieves out somehow. Grinning, he calls Futaba.

She must have found something good, because she doesn’t pick up until the second call. Even then, there’s only silence on the other side.

“Hey, Futaba! I got the—”

“Akira?” He barely hears it past his own voice. It’s quiet and trembling and he curses his loud, irrational enthusiasm. 

Something’s wrong.

“...Futaba?” There’s a shuddering sob. His heart breaks.

“Akira, am I a bad person?” Futaba whispers. He can’t read her that well yet, and he can’t even see her face, but she sounds resigned, like it’s barely even a question.

“No.” He says, firm but not loud. “You’re not. Why would you think that?”

Another choked breath. “I killed Mom.”

“No, you didn’t.” Boss had said that Isshiki Wakaba had thrown herself in front of a car. He’d barely remembered that part of the conversation, but it’s clear as day now that it’s important.

“I did, she-she hated me, that’s why she—”

“That was not your fault Futaba,” He refutes sternly, softly, “You didn’t push her. It’s not your fault.”

“But she says it’s my fault!” Futaba cries. He can hear the tears in her voice. “She’s right here, she’s telling me it’s my fault, it’s my fault, she _hated_ me, it’s my—” Akira goes cold.

So these are the hallucinations Boss had been talking about.

“She’s not there, Futaba. It wasn’t your fault.” Firm, but soft.

“It _was,_ she says so, she’s shouting, it hurts, it’s my fault—” Akira sits stone still, telling her it’s not her fault, that the hallucination isn’t real, over and over and over again, quiet and calm and gentle when he wants to scream the accusations away. It would make it worse.

He’s done this before, sitting on a small thin futon in the dark next to a sobbing Yusuke, telling him it wasn’t his fault that Madarame was cruel, that it wasn’t his fault that he was hurting and suffering. Each time it’s painfully clear that his truths don’t matter to them, but he says them anyway, maybe in some useless hope that it will become true to them one day. That maybe just being there and talking will help them to be less alone.

It goes on for what feels like hours, but eventually Futaba watches Isshiki Wakaba walk away and not come back. The broken sound she makes when she feels safe again feels familiar. It hurts.

“Am I a good person, ‘Kira?”

“You are. You’re a really good person.”

“I’m so messed up.”

“We’ll fix it.”

“They’re... they’re gonna fix it, right? They’ll take it away?” They hadn’t been able to fix Akira’s shadow, but Futaba is different. Futaba is so different.

“Yeah, they will.”

“You... you better make those cooling items really good, ‘Kira.” That startles a breathy laugh out of him, and the sound of it makes him blink dry, dry eyes.

“Yeah, I will.”

“Can you stay?”

“Of course.” So he tells her about the bracelets he’d bought, and he tells her about the extra symbols he’s going to add to each one to make them more effective, even though he hadn’t been planning on it before. He comes up with a story for why they should work that he’s going to tell the Thieves, even when he wasn’t going to before.

He’s not sure how he can tell when she falls asleep, but when she does, he waits five minutes before hanging up and getting to work on the cooling bracelets. They’ll have to be good. It’s the only thing he can do to help, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's doing well, and if not, that it gets better soon.


	23. A Friend

Joker _has added_ Joker _to the chat_

_Joker: So Yusuke mentioned how hot it is inside Futaba’s Palace, and from what I remember most of you guys have costumes that are mostly leather?_

_Joker: Futaba told me about these things that can regulate your body temperature, and they’ll probably work even better in the Metaverse. I got you guys the ones that cool you down. They’re called Chill Beads._

_Joker: I gave Yusuke enough for one for each of you plus a spare._

_Joker: It uses some combination of stored energy and pressure point contact, so as long as you keep them on in the Metaverse, you’ll be fine._

_Panther: wow, thanks kurusu-kun!!_

_Skull: sweet thisll really help_

_Skull: weve been dying out there_

_Queen: I’m thankful, Kurusu-san, but you aren’t in this chat._

_Joker: Oh yeah, sorry. Yusuke left before I could tell him what they did, so I figured it would just be easier to tell everyone at once. I’ll leave right away._

_Panther: mona says thanks too!_

Joker _has left the chat_

The Chill Beads look like hundred-yen beaded bracelets with snowflakes and triangles on them, but Yusuke isn’t willing to discount them on the chance that they do work. His core element is ice, and in Sakura Futaba’s desert it feels like he’s made of it, and melting quickly. Even Ann, whose core is fire, has to deal with full-body skin-tight leather.

When they all meet in the Sakuras’ small courtyard, they nod at each other and transfer to the Metaverse without delay, landing on the stone pavilion outside the pyramid. Immediately, the heat bogs down on Yusuke like he hasn’t slept in three days, dragging at his clothes and deadening his movements. Only the whisper of adrenaline and anticipation for the day’s heist keeps him upright.

“Okay, let’s try these out!” Skull pulls on the bracelet quickly and hopefully, standing frozen afterwards with his arm out dramatically. Slowly, his eyes widen. “Woah, it really works!”

“Did you think it wouldn’t?” Panther teases beside him, Chill Beads already on and much more energetic than before.

“No! ‘Course I knew it would work! It’s just really cool, like a personal AC!”

Finally remembering to move, Yusuke slips his own Chill Beads on. Frigid coolness spreads through his body, and he sighs in relief. He’ll need to thank Akira for this later.

“Alright. Everyone’s good?” Mona asks, paws on his hips, “Then let’s go!”

They troop into the pyramid they’d been chased out of previously, carefully avoiding the spot that had dropped them into quicksand the day before. Futaba’s shadow is already waiting for them, dusty white surrounded by dark stone.

“You wish to enter my tomb?”

“Yes,” Queen answers, the same exchange as yesterday.

“Hmph.” The shadow’s face doesn’t change. “You survived the pit, so you may be worthy. In the nearby town, there is a bandit that has stolen something from me. Return it to me, and I will let you pass.”

“What did he steal?”

“You’ll have to find out.” Queen pauses, weighing the consequences of asking more.

“...Alright.”

They walk out in a measured silence. 

The moment they’re outside, Skull explodes. “Man, she’s sending us on a fetch quest!? We don’t even know where that stupid town is! This is so annoying!”

“I know, but let’s just deal with it, okay? You heard what she said, if we do this she’ll let us in after!”

“How do we know she won’t—” There’s movement on the edges of his vision. The others must see it too, because they turn to face whatever shadow has snuck up on them as one.

Except—there’s nothing there, just the tall blank walls of the grand entrance to Futaba’s pyramid.

Suddenly, a hand appears on the wall.

“The f—”

“What—“

The symbol moves back and forth, waving slowly, despite appearing to be painted onto the wall like the other symbols inside the pyramid.

“Uhhhh...”

The hand disappears. A clearly written _‘Hello’_ takes its place.

Silence.

“Hi...?” Panther finally stutters, jumping back as the picture changes again.

_‘I am Joker.’_

“Akira?” Fox blurts out. That had been his brother’s name online, whenever he’d showed Yusuke any computer work he’d done. He still didn’t know why he’d picked Joker, but it fit. And now this wall...

_‘Yes, although I am Joker here, because the Pharaoh knows that name better.’_

“So this is Sakura Futaba’s cognition of Kurusu...” Mona whispers to the rest of them, confirming Fox’s theory.

_‘I am only able to interact with the Pharaoh in this way, because the Pharaoh is supposed to die alone in this tomb.’_ The new sentence takes up most of the wall within the Thieves’ eyeline, bending around cracks in the wall. It changes quickly to _‘If I am simply a part of the tomb, it doesn’t count.’_

“Clever,” Queen replies, hand on her chin.

_‘Thank you.’_

“Akira has only ever interacted with Futaba through text messaging. This must be her interpretation of that.” Fox hums, more for the benefit of the others than himself. “Why are you speaking to us, Aki—Joker?”

_‘The Pharaoh doesn’t deserve to die like this. I want to help you.’_

“You’re willing to help us steal her treasure?” Queen asks, eyes hard and sharp. Fox understands. Sakura Futaba has tricked them before, both inside and outside her Palace. However, he also knows his brother.

_‘Yes. There is a shortcut this way. You don’t need to go after the bandit.’_ The words disappear shortly after, replaced by a prompting arrow pointing out of the pyramid.

“Heck yeah! No fetch quest! I’m in!” Skull cheers, turning to the rest of them hopefully.

Fox agrees with him. He trusts Akira implicitly, and he knows how Akira cares for Futaba. He would never trick her, and he’d told Yusuke about her without hesitation. He wouldn’t lie to Futaba. This cognitive Akira, seen from Futaba’s view, would have no reason to lie to them or withhold information.

_“Simply adhering to the ruler’s wishes does not sit right with me,”_ Goemon contributes.

“Indeed. Akira would never trick us. Shouldn’t we take any advantage we can get?” That, and he doesn’t want to deal with the sand much more than he has to.

Mona nods thoughtfully. “I don’t remember Kurusu doing anything that wasn’t to help us help Sakura Futaba. We should be fine.”

After Panther agrees too, Queen sighs and relents. “Fine. We’ll trust you for now, Joker.” The arrow simply prods them outside in response.

When they follow it, the arrow goes with them, folding around the corner of the wall and rippling over the stones of the exterior of the pyramid. They climb up onto the first level of bricks to follow it, trekking perhaps five minutes away before the arrow jerks upwards.

Any complaints are stifled by pure curiosity as they climb up after it, finally stopping when the arrow becomes a thick black box around one of the bricks.

“I think we’re about a third of the way up the pyramid here!” Mona exclaims, paw shading his face as they all look out over the expansive view. There’s a small puddle of shadow in the distance, presumably the town they were supposed to go to. Other than that and the tomb and its pavilion, there’s nothing but sand, providing a bleak juxtaposition of dead civilization to dead nothingness, all with the same colour palette. It could be an interesting subject to paint—

“I don’t see anything different with this block,” Queen announces, dragging Fox from his observations and the rest of them from their sightseeing.

_‘There is a room behind it. Move the block and you’ll get in.’_

“Uhh, is there a trick to it...?” Panther pokes the brick. It’s taller than her waist, likely thicker than it appears beneath the bricks above it. It doesn’t budge.

_‘Nope. Just blow it up or something.’_

“That’s helpful.”

_‘You’re welcome.’_

Skull huffs, kicking at the brick while Fox smiles at Akira’s brand of public humour. “Queen?” Fox asks, stepping forward. If nobody else is willing, he will gladly do it.

“Aargh.” Queen’s hand moves as if to perform her usual action of pinching the bridge of her nose, but finding her face covered in her mask, she simply splays her fingers in a facepalm and sighs. “Mona and I would have the most effect on it, I’d say. I’ll attack it first, to weaken it, and then Mona will cut through the rest.”

“Sounds good to me!”

“Okay. Stand back, everyone. Johanna, freila!” The blast bites a chunk out of the brick, leaving a small, crumbling crater in the stone. “And again!” Another boom, and Fox flinches against the bright light of the magic. “One last time!”

This time, there’s a series of hollow clunks following the explosion. The brick has been mostly blown apart now, revealing a small, dark hole in the middle of the ruins. As Fox watches, pebbles fall through like rain, calling back to them with distant thunks from inside the void.

“Okay, Mona.” Queen steps back, allowing Mona to bounce forward and inspect the hole.

“Alright, garu! Again!” When Mona’s done, there sits a neat entrance in the middle of the brick, leaving the sides untouched and plenty of room to crawl through. “Aaaand there! Perfect!”

“Wow, nice!”

“Nyahahah, all in a day’s work!”

“Thank you, Mona. Now, let’s go.” One by one, they all jump through without hesitation. Fox is far too used to the strange properties of Palaces by now, and he already knows that this room is going to be safe, even without Joker’s assurances. He can feel it. There’s no need to check ahead of time.

_“You’ve become a true thief,”_ his persona explains, quietly and unexpectedly, _“It is something that you need to know, and so you know it.”_

It’s noticeably cooler inside the pyramid, without a pool of lava to keep the room at a temperature meant to boil them in their thief outfits, but Fox can tell that it’s still warm enough to be grateful for the Chill Beads. He can barely see anything at first, the darkness vastly different to the intense sunlight outside. All he can see is something glowing green ahead of him that he immediately makes his way towards.

The first thing he notices once his eyes do adjust is a jumbled mural. While normally he would commend the attempt at the abstract style, something about this image just doesn’t seem right. Walking forward to observe it closer, it suddenly changes.

“What—ah.” Tapping at the glowing panel he’d brushed against, he quickly sets the painting to rights. It’s a rather modernized imitation of the ancient Egyptian art style, the lines flatter and more cartoonish and the bird-headed men on the right of the image wearing suits from the present day.

“Woah...” Skull hisses over his shoulder, “What’s this?”

_“I never should have had Futaba... she’s such a bother.”_

They all flinch and duck at the sudden voice, looking for enemies where there aren’t any. It thunders around them, backed by a constant soundtrack of sobs.

_“Perhaps your mother had some kind of maternity neurosis?”_

“What is...?” Whoever is talking is loud, theatrical, and dramatic, like some of the men Madarame spoke to on the phone when he thought Yusuke wasn’t listening, like the men Akira had hated, and that tells him that this voice is lying. Judging by the sobs, however, a younger Futaba hadn’t thought the same.

_“It seems you caused your mother a great deal of pain, Futaba.”_

“This is what actually happened...?”

“It’s so cruel...”

“It’s a lie.” Fox tells them all, certain. “They were lying.” He watches paint swirl to life beside the mural, forming a confirmation of Panther’s question and ignoring Fox’s statement.

“This is horrible.”

“It’s sick is what it is. Why would they lie to a kid like that?” Skull growls, fists clenching, “Alright! Joker! Where do we go next, I’m itchin’ to knock around some shadows!”

_‘There’s some walking first, but then there’ll be some guards patrolling.’_ An arrow appears that they follow for a few minutes, quietly simmering until Mona calls out to wait.

“There’s a safe room around here. I can tell that none of us want to rest right now, but I should mark it down on—uhh...”

“...We don’t have a map.” Queen breathes. They’d never gone without one before.

_‘The Pharaoh’s control is weak in a room nearby. Is that what you mean?’_

“Uh, yeah?” Mona looks suspicious, and Fox realizes the sentiment. As much as he wants to trust his brother, this is merely Futaba’s impression of him, and they can’t trust that he hasn’t been influenced by Futaba’s status as ruler of this Palace.

_‘I can remember it for you, if you want.’_ The arrow changes briefly into a blocky, thick-lined map of twisting corridors, a red circle appearing around a small room.

“S-sure, okay. Thanks.”

“Huh, you’re like one of those navi-bots in games. Nice, but can we get to the shadows now?”

_‘You could say I’m your cheat code ;)’_ The arrow dashes around the corner, bringing them to a ventilation shaft. _‘Through here, over the scaffolding, and across the big room.’_

“The big room? What’s that supposed to mean?” The words don’t change, except for the period at the end of the sentence becoming a _‘:)’_. “Cheeky...”

“Let’s just go.” Queen groans, entering the shaft.

“Fine, yeah, yeah.” The vent takes them to a small landing surrounded by scaffolding, which they use to get across to another landing with a doorway. Skull jumps through the doorway first, eager for a fight, but freezes.

“...So that’s what he meant. Yeah, that’s pretty big...”

Curious, Fox joins him. “Ah. Shadows.” The large room is lined with holographic projections of detailed globes, but more importantly, there are shadows. Many of them.

On the other side of the room, there is a doorway.

The Phantom Thieves collectively decide to ignore this doorway until they have fought six separate shadows, taken a break watching from the platform they’d entered through as more shadows arrived in the room, and then destroyed four more. Then, righteous anger satisfied, they make their way to the door.

Cognitive Joker doesn’t comment, simply directing them towards another vent that eventually takes them to a corridor. They traverse that corridor for a time, dealing with yet another shadow and dodging two more before they reach a room similar to the one with the previous mural.

Fox is about to rearrange the image here too, when Queen interrupts. “Wait.” When he looks at her questioningly, she explains, “If this is anything like the last one, we’re going to want to fight some more, but we won’t have the energy. Besides, it’s been a while. I think we should stop for the day.”

“Aww, really!?”

“Don’t deny that you’re tired, Skull.”

“But what about the rest of the Palace? It doesn’t feel like we’ve gotten very far...”

Black blinks into existence nearby. _‘Youre about 2/3 in.’_

“...Huh. That’s great!”

“Thank you for your assistance, Joker. Will you be the here next time we come?” The words disappear into a thumbs up. “Alright.”

“I have to ask, though, before we go.” Mona props his head on his paw, “I think we were about a third of the way in where you showed us that shortcut. But judging by the layout of this place, there are a bunch of rooms close to the outside like that. Why didn’t you bring us to one closer to the top?”

_‘The Guardian wouldve noticed the explosions.’_

“The Guardian? We can deal with shadows, dude, didn’t you see?”

_‘The Guardian isnt a guard. she keeps the pharaoh in her tomb.’_ The words vanish.

“Well—”

_‘Any higher n she wouldve caught you. shes nearly invincible as it is.’_ The wall blanks again. _‘Battling her on the side of the pyramid like that wouldve been suicide.’_

“Well, if you say so. A near-invincible shadow? That sounds dangerous.”

_‘She is.’_


	24. Almost There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. Happy holidays everyone :)

“Rrgh, disgusting adults, doin’ something like that to a kid for no reason...” Skull’s seething rather properly describes what Fox is also thinking as they follow Joker’s directions down the hallway, all of them tense and angry after seeing the second mural.

It’s upsetting to hear the unseen voices berate and mock a young Futaba over her mother’s death. Blaming her for the suicide, even. Fox finds it difficult to imagine how he would have felt if he’d been blamed for Touma’s death, simply because he’d been the one to find him, or even because they’d lived together.

There’s no use wondering, however. Instead of simmering, Fox settles for a few iced over shadows.

This time they only jump four shadows, calm enough after to keep going through the old stone rooms. They’re more difficult than the shadows in Kaneshiro’s bank, now that Fox has the presence of mind to notice, but they are nothing in the face of the Phantom Thieves’ rage. The demonic forms are near-instantly vaporized when the entire group doesn’t decide to simply whale on them with their weapons.

Joker waits patiently for them to hack their emotions out, and then guides them to the next room.

There isn’t much to note within the identical stone brick walls and the occasional dirty crawl space—Fox can only barely remember their route. Even the décor becomes tiring after some time, especially after they realize that the plain clay pottery never holds anything inside.

They loot treasure chests and the more ornate jars as they go, as thieves are wont to do. Joker warns them against taking the glowing green gems from the statues, claiming them to be cursed, and Mona reluctantly agrees that they would be difficult to sell for any sort of value in the real world. They leave the gems, even if the glow calls to Fox as he goes.

It occurs to him that perhaps he is beginning to have a problem with valuables, due to the constant thievery. The notion is easy enough to dismiss, as are Goemon’s chuckles echoing in the back of his mind.

Their path does, however, lead them over a holographic bridge that Fox can only just keep himself from stopping and painting. It’s pure light hovering over a deep chasm, and he can only begin to wonder at what it represents. As much as he wants to simply sit in the middle of the bridge and pull out his sketchbook, it’s probably not a good idea to test the limits of a malicious enemy’s light bridge.

That, and he doesn’t think the others would let him.

“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” Panther says as they scramble over large sarcophagi to get to a higher level, “We’re literally walking over their graves.”

“Well, I’d say more climbing, but I suppose so.” Fox allows. They are rather nicely painted. Although, he wonders if—

“Hey, you think there are actual mummies in these things?” Skull pokes at another one curiously.

“Eugh, I don’t want to think about that! Stop messing with it, Skull!”

“Hey, no harm done, see?” He knocks his knuckles on the front demonstratively, and Fox watches as the lid to the sarcophagus splits in half, pieces moving outward and to the side. “—Uh.”

“I believe you broke it.” He tells him, because there is nothing inside and he is fairly certain that sarcophagi are not meant to open that way.

“Skull!”

“I mean, hey, now you know there’s nothin’ inside, see? They’re probably just decoration pieces.”

“You don’t know that! Just—come on.”

“Yeah, yeah. ...Was kinda funny seeing your face, though. Were you expecting—”

“Hey, guys!” Mona yells from the next tier of sarcophagi, “Hurry up!”

“Apologies,” Fox calls back, quickly pulling himself over the new sarcophagi, “Where—ah.”

The door ahead is glowing like the one that had led to the second mural. When Fox and the others make their way inside, Queen already at the interface. There are more pieces this time, and she readily gives the duty over to Fox when he approaches.

_“Mom... I’m tired of eating alone. You’re always working! C’mon, I wanna go on a trip!”_

_“Stop being so selfish, Futaba! Can’t you see I’m busy working hard to support you? Ugh!”_

They listen as they had before, but this time Fox can’t find an obvious fault in the presentation. This could easily have happened without any outside interference. A child getting bored and a parent becoming tired of the complaints is not uncommon.

 _“I killed her...”_ The haunted, hollow voice of Futaba’s shadow rings out after the recollections, and Fox jolts. This hadn’t happened before. _“...And I will die here.”_

“She’s not here,” Queen breathes, still holding her knuckledusters ready.

“What could the distortion here be...?” Fox whispers, still confused.

“Maybe,” Panther starts quietly, before giving up and speaking regularly, “It’s just an extension of the last one?” She straightens from her battle crouch, looking thoughtful. “She did say ‘I killed her’...”

“So it’s like, just another reminder that her mom didn’t like her?” Skull stares at the mural, “Maybe this was just a one-time thing, and it didn’t actually mean anything in the long run, but it stuck with her ‘cause o’ the suicide?”

“It could also be a lie, a fabricated memory telling Futaba that her mother hated her. We can’t tell if this actually happened or not.” Queen adds.

“I mean, there were some obvious lies in the last ones, too, right?” Mona hops up towards the entrance. “Either way, it just means we need to change her heart!”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah!”

Joker’s arrow guides them down to the large staircase in the middle they’d been avoiding, then straight to the large barrier at the end. It opens easily, only for the path to be blocked by another door.

It’s criss-crossed with caution tape and glowing green like many of the other elements in this Palace, but somehow it stands out from the rest of the environment. It seems to radiate an energy that asserts its importance over everything else there. It’s captivating.

“‘Do not enter’,” Queen reads off of the sign in the middle, “Is this the room with the treasure?”

“It’s gotta be!” Mona bounces up and down, and Fox marvels at his energy, “I can smell it! It’s through this door!”

“Yeah, well, it’s provin’ a little too good to be true,” Skull informs them all, shoving his shoulder against it, “It’s not openin’ for anything. That sign’s pretty dang accurate.”

There’s movement off to the side, but only Fox turns to look. The black ink on tan stone is usually easy to see, but in the bright glow of the door, the shadows make it nearly impossible.

‘Thats the Pharaohs ultimate stronghold’ Joker says, ‘No ones allowed in’

“Not even you?” Fox asks, jolting the others out of their inspection of the barrier.

‘Im part of the tomb so i can go wherever the Pharaoh wants me. i dont count’

“But nobody else is allowed in.” Queen finishes from beside him, sounding suspicious.

‘No’

“Not even Sakura Sojiro?” The word on the wall doesn’t change. “Hm. As I thought.”

“Queen?”

“This is a cognition of the real world. Kurusu is only known in text form, so he can go wherever Sakura Futaba takes her devices. But Sakura Sojiro isn’t allowed in...” Ah. “I’m almost certain that this is Futaba’s room, though we’ll have to check with Sakura-san or Sakura Futaba when we get back. Either way, this is as far as we can go today.”

“If we go into her room, we’ll probably have to give her the calling card at the same time,” Mona muses, “If we do those things separately, I don’t think the shock will be enough to form the treasure. She’s already kind of expecting it.”

“That’s gonna be a lot of work...” Skull groans, reluctantly following them as they return through their route.

“Well, still! That means we’re almost done, right? And we can get through the rest in one fell swoop! Futaba-chan doesn’t have to feel that way about her mom anymore!”

Their route is secured, but Fox can’t help but feel as if they are forgetting something.

“We’ll take a break tomorrow.” Queen orders once they crawl out into the sunlight again, “Get some rest, stock up on anything you think you’ll need for a big battle. We’re going to have to fight Sakura Futaba’s shadow the next time we go in.”

“Hey,” Akira squints at his screen, “Does this coding feel familiar to you or...?”

“You mean the footprint? I dunno, it’s not like every other company this fake Medjed has hacked has the same footprint or anything,” Futaba giggles, “You’ve been staring at this substandard code for too long! You’ve been hypnotized!”

Even though they’re only voice calling, Akira tries hard to keep his grin up. After the episode yesterday, Futaba had bounced back today like nothing had ever happened. Instead, it’s Akira who’s still hung up on it.

“Nah, I meant from somewhere else. It’s so basic and patchy, you know? Like they’re trying not to be traced.”

He doesn’t know how to help her.

“Well, duh. Nobody wants to be traced. But these guys are doing the opposite. They’re being suuuper obvious!” The cackle she lets out is identical to the one she types out in her messages, and for a moment it’s not hard at all to smile. “We’ll have this done in no time!”

“Yeah. Do you think—” He’s interrupted by a veritable storm of text notifications coming from his phone. Which is strange, because normally he gets maybe five texts a day.

They’re still coming.

“Woah, someone’s popular!”

**(10) New Message(s)**

Joker _has been added to the chat_

_Fox: here he is_

_Panther: hey Kurusu-kun!_

_Skull: yo kurusu_

_Queen: Hello, Kurusu-kun._

_Queen: We were hoping you could clear something up for us._

_Queen: Inside the Palace, there is a cognitive barrier that we think is connected to Futaba’s room in the real world._

_Queen: We just need to make sure that’s the case. What does Futaba’s room’s door look like?_

_Panther: we’re almost through the palace!_

_Skull: yeah we just gotta get thru this barrier_

—New Messages—

_Joker: Hey there._

_Joker: First of all, please tell me this is at least encrypted. Anyone even looking at your notifications will see that your chat’s called ‘Phantom Thieves’. And your notifications better not actually show the contents of the messages on your lock screen._

_Joker: Second, I don’t know. Let me check._

_Skull: uhhh_

_Panther: wait, what’s encrypted?_

“Hey Futaba, what’s the door to your room look like?” The typing on the other end stops abruptly.

“Uhh, it’s a door? Why you asking?”

“Phantom Thieves wanna know. Probably the outside of your door. What’s it look like?”

_Joker: Makes it harder to hack. A lot of chat apps have it._

_Skull: hey wouldn’t you know since you already hacked our chat before_

_Joker: I just used Futaba’s backdoor that time. I didn’t really look._

“They need to know? Uh, it’s got caution tape on it? Lots! And a ‘do not disturb’ sign! Aaaand I think that’s it.”

_Queen: As far as I’m aware, this messaging app doesn’t encrypt their chats. Should we move to a new app?_

“Wow, professional interior designer over here.”

“Hey, it’s cool!”

_Joker: I wouldn’t bother at this point. I think Futaba’s already making you guys a new one anyways._

_Skull: wow really??_

“Why do they need to know?” Akira already has his suspicions, and he thinks Futaba has the same ones, but he asks anyways.

_Joker: Yeah, your security is almost nonexistent. I think she took offense to it._

_Panther: that’s really nice of her though!_

_Joker: Futaba says her door has caution tape and a ‘do not disturb' sign on it. Why do you need to know?_

_Skull: its not that bad is it_

_Queen: As we thought. That same door appears in a crucial area in her cognitive world._

“Akira?”

_Queen: It’s in front of the treasure we need to steal. It’s locked, likely due to her perception of it in the real world._

“They’re gonna have to come into your room, Futaba.”

There’s a whimper. “What? So soon? I didn’t get to build up to it! I’m n-not ready!”

_Joker: You’re going to need to enter her room, then._

“Hey, if you’re not ready, they won’t come right away.”

_Joker: Is there a time limit for that?_

_Queen: Not necessarily, but we’d like to do it soon so Futaba doesn’t have to suffer._

_Fox: I believe we will be taking a break tomorrow however, so we won’t be doing anything until after that_

“No, I... I have to do it.”

“Futaba—”

“I have to do it sometime, right!? I’ll just do it now! It’s not gonna get any better if I don’t!”

“...Okay.”

_Joker: She’ll let you in whenever you can come. As soon as you can._


	25. Right Before the Day

“Hey, Boss.” Sojiro doesn’t bother looking up from his brewing coffee when Akira comes in. The kid’s here every day. He just starts up more coffee. “There’s nobody here.”

“The early morning regulars just lef—”

“Okay!” Sojiro apparently hasn’t woken up fully yet, despite the coffee. He could have sworn he’d just heard Futaba— “Hi Sojiro!”

“Wh—Futaba!?” His head snaps up fast enough to give him whiplash, searching for bright orange in the doorway. How had she been able to make the entire trip here?

But he searches the area around Akira, then the whole café. And she’s not there.

“Where...” In front of him, Akira waves a phone in the air. A voice comes from the speaker.

“I’m just calling! But I’ll be able to come over for real, soon!” 

“Sorry for the scare.” Akira adds, grinning sheepishly. Sojiro’s shoulders drop a good three inches. She sounds so _happy_. He doesn’t get to hear that very often, when the only time she calls him is when she needs something, and she’s always barricaded in her room.

“Do you brats like scaring me like that? Geez.”

“It’s not our fault your awareness stats suck!” Sojiro sighs, sounding like the old man he is, and goes back to his coffee. The chair in front of him shifts audibly as Akira joins him at the counter, setting the phone in between them.

It’s almost as if she’s there.

“So why’d you decide to call today?” He asks, like usual, which is when he realizes: Futaba is calling another person. Actually _talking_ to them.

“I wanted to see if I could do two people at the same time! I know it’s just you, but it’s an improvement, right?”

“R... Right.” It is. It’s a real, genuine improvement. Futaba hasn’t talked to anyone other than him in so long. She’d been so scared to even just _call_ someone, let them hear her voice or her hear theirs. It would have broken his heart, seeing more of what they’d done to her, if it hadn’t already broken when he’d first seen her.

Akira’s not surprised at all, smirking down at the phone and responding like it’s a normal conversation. But then he looks up at Sojiro for a second and it’s obvious that the kid is just as excited as he is. He knows what this means for Futaba. She’d probably called him alone, called him a few times, on her own, before she worked up to having multiple people on the line.

She’d been working at this for days, and he is so, so _proud_ of her.

“And I remembered another plus to talking out loud with you guys! Y’know what it is?”

“Wha—”

“I can interrupt you now! See? Ultimate superpow—”

“Yeah, but that means I can interrupt you, too.”

“No fair!”

“Sure it’s fai—”

“Yeah,” Sojiro drawls, “I’m cutting you off now. This means I get to interrupt you both too, you realize. And I will not hesitate to use my power, got that?”

Futaba huffs, and he can hear the pout in her voice. When’s the last time he’s heard her so emotive? “Fiiiiiinneee. Can’t believe I have to listen to the mods.”

When Sojiro looks up, he sees the way Akira’s smirking and knows he’s doing his version of falling onto the floor laughing. And that just won’t do.

“And Akira. I won’t have you lazing around here all day, doing nothing.” Akira blinks up at him, startled out of his glee, “Get over here. I’m teaching you how to make coffee.” Paired with a raised eyebrow, the kid doesn’t stand a chance.

They’d nearly given him a heart attack earlier, so Sojiro thinks he’s justified in taking these brats down a peg.

“Uh, okay,” Akira stumbles out of his chair and scrambles around the bar, leaving the phone behind.

_“Whaaaaaaaaatttt,”_ comes from the phone, “Heeeyy, you better tell me everything that’s happening, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sojiro says, taking down a jar of beans that would be good for a beginner. He’ll see if the kid likes it, and if he does, it won’t be that much of a bother to keep teaching him. He’s always here, anyways.

He thinks he’s got a spare apron somewhere he can dig out.

Supply runs with the Phantom Thieves are an interesting affair. They all have their favourite haunts, the places they’re most comfortable with to buy supplies and sell the dubious treasure they find in the Metaverse. In most of those places, it would also look incredibly suspicious if a group of teenagers came in regularly to sell the sorts of things an average teenager wouldn’t normally have access to.

They, unfortunately, know this from experience.

So they go their separate ways, selling off their own stashes and picking up whatever they think they’ll need, and then reconvene after so Makoto can double check everything. They’ve got a system down, by now.

Yusuke just goes out and buys a sizeable stockpile of all his favourite recovery snacks, the ones proven to heal just a bit or give a little boost to their magical energy. Ryuji handles the weaponry at a store he frequents, so he doesn’t have to worry about anything else.

He sells off some of the treasure to an eclectic art store that has incredible brush sales every month, and they’re happy to take the little ancient Egyptian statuettes at what Yusuke thinks is a good price. A second hand shop takes the rest for less, but Yusuke is hardly complaining. Any money is good. He’s still getting used to having it in the first place.

When he gets back to the dorms, he puts his bags with the rest of his Metaverse equipment stash, to be somehow transported into the pocket dimension of his outfit’s pockets when he transforms. He might have to find a better place to hide it. It’s getting rather large.

The Chill Beads are prominent on the top of the pile, and Yusuke slips them on without a thought. The beads are still cool against his skin, although they lack the effect they’d had in Futaba’s Palace. He’ll have to ask Akira where he’d found them. There might be more useful items they can use there.

Well, there’s time. It’s still afternoon. Why not ask now?

It’s not hard to make his way down to Akira’s dorm room, only a few doors away. It’s not so different from before, being close to his brother, but it’s a part of before that he’d actually appreciated.

He pushes the door open silently when he hears the familiar low drone of a phone call through the thin walls of the dorms. Yusuke knows not to interrupt. Akira’s phone calls are usually important. He doesn’t look up from his phone when Yusuke enters, curled over it where he’s perched on his bed, but he doesn’t protest, so Yusuke settles in to wait for him to finish.

He notices Akira’s concerning stillness right before the first sobs come from the phone.

_“I c-can’t—it was my fault!”_ Someone cries, and he can barely tell what they’re saying. But there’s a distant sort of dread creeping up on him, so he slowly moves to sit at Akira’s side.

“It wasn’t your fault, Futaba.” The mattress dips where Yusuke drops down, but Akira doesn’t notice. His face is stone, unchanging, blank. Miserable. Yusuke can’t tell if he’s entirely present.

_“She’s dead and she’s haunting me! I deserve it! I’m a monster!”_

“You’re not a monster. It wasn’t ever your fault, Futaba. She’s not there.” Akira’s voice becomes deader and deader. Yusuke doubts that anyone else would be able to tell. It’s the kind of voice Yusuke has only ever heard through walls and cracks in doorways, something he thinks he wasn’t ever supposed to hear and that Madarame never really noticed. Akira only gets like this when he’s truly tired and despairing. And, considering what he now knows, when Akira feels like he is truly unable to do anything for anyone.

It hurts to hear, when they’ve finally escaped the original source of it.

_“She-she is... she’s here, I can see her, she’s yelling at me... I...”_ Yusuke feels so painfully useless.

“She’s not there, Futaba.”

_“I’m a monster...”_

“You’re not a monster.”

_“I can’t... I don’t deserve... I don’t...”_

“It wasn’t your fault, Futaba.”

_“I...”_

“...Futaba?”

_“She’s...”_ Futaba’s voice, crackling through the phone’s speaker, takes on a note of awe, _“She’s gone...”_

“...Yeah, she’s gone, Baba.”

_“Kira, am I...”_

Akira nearly cuts her off for the first time, as if he already knows what she’s about to ask. “You’re not a bad person, Futaba. You’re such a good person. It was never your fault.”

_“...Okay.”_

“...You should get some rest, Baba.”

_“I...”_

“Please.”

_“...Okay. Yeah. Okay. ...Thanks, Kira.”_

“No problem.” A stuttering breath is heard, a rustling of fabric. Then, the call ends with an abrupt beep.

Akira’s expression doesn’t change. He sits there, stone still and dead while Yusuke watches on. After what feels like ages, he tips slowly, slowly, into Yusuke’s side. His phone slides out of his hands towards the ground until Yusuke rescues it reluctantly, setting it away out of sight.

“Was that...” Yusuke starts, hushed. He’s not sure how much he wants to know.

“...Futaba’s been having hallucinations lately.” Akira mumbles in response, leaning his weight further into Yusuke.

“...Ah.” Yusuke doesn’t move, uncertain. Physical contact had been a comfort reserved only for when they really, really needed it, dried tears in the shoulders of pajama shirts the only proof of hugs stolen in the middle of the night. It hadn’t been seen as proper within Madarame’s traditionalist household.

He’s not quite sure how to help.

“...You guys are going to help her.” Akira says quietly to the wall in front of them, suddenly confident, “I trust you, Yusuke. This is bad, but she’ll get through it. I can tell you’re working hard. You’ll do it.”

Yusuke feels a rush of pride, both because of the praise and because of Akira’s resolve. He’s not defeated by this.

“You’ve been helping her too.”

“I... not really.”

“You have. You’ve given her hope, and you’ve made getting through those hallucinations easier.”

Akira sighs tiredly. “I just wish I could do more. I can’t—fix anything, I can only help her get through it. I’m still useless.”

Sometimes, Yusuke is reminded that they never actually defeated Akira’s shadow. Today, it hits him like a brick to the face. He wishes that they could have done so sooner, but it’s too late now. They need all of their energy for the battle tomorrow, and it’s likely to be the hardest one yet.

But perhaps... “Do you feel up to going out?” Beside him, Akira twitches and blinks.

“...Why?”

“You said you wanted to help me find a better weapon. We’ll be going in tomorrow, and I could use the help.” It isn’t a permanent fix. But it will help Akira feel better, just like he’d just done for Futaba. Yusuke can see the benefit in that, even if Akira can’t.

“...Okay, sure.”

_Fox: @Skull, what were you planning for our weaponry for tomorrow?_

_Skull: uhh not much_

_Skull: just some maintenance_

_Skull: why_

_Fox: Akira has been insisting that I upgrade my katana for some time now_

_Skull: lol ok go for it_

_Skull: if u wanna get a new one try untouchable_

_Skull:.maps/untouchable/_

_Skull: its where i usually get that stuff_

_Panther: isn’t that a gun shop?_

_Skull: MODEL gun shop_

_Panther: why do they sell swords there??_

_Skull: bc its cool thats y_

_Fox: Thank you_

_Skull: ye no prob dude_

_Skull: good luck_

“Not where I expected it to be,” Akira says, glancing around the heart of Shibuya as they navigate the crowds, “Is it hidden in an alley or something? I can’t see people just casually walking by a model gun shop here.”

“I... believe so.” Yusuke frowns at the map on his phone. It looks like an alleyway, at least.

Akira puffs out a breath of air in place of a laugh. His face is still a little vacant, and his arm brushes up against Yusuke’s constantly, but he’s already looking better.

“So what makes something more effective in there?” Akira murmurs, still scanning the crowd.

Yusuke suddenly remembers the Chill Beads on his wrist. “If we believe it will work, then it will work. So if we doubt it, then it won’t be as effective, or it might not even work at all. It stands to reason that if we believe it work in a certain way, it would do so. Like the Chill Beads you gave us. Thank you for those, by the way. They were incredibly helpful.” He greatly appreciates remaining unmelted.

Akira hums, a strange look in his eyes. “Yeah. Of course. ...So if it looks more realistic, it’s more believable?”

“Theoretically, I suppose we could point with our fingers and successfully shoot bullets if we believed we could. But that’s rather... difficult.”

“Don’t want you turning into actual anime characters,” Akira quips, still deadpan, “So your katana works fine. But if it were more realistic, it would be more effective?”

“Probably.” Yusuke directs them down an alley.

“And your guns, too?”

“Yes.”

“Then we know what you need.” A green neon sign glows over a set of wire lattice display cages. The door clicks loudly when Yusuke opens it to a haphazard spread of boxes and military helmets. The man at the counter isn’t paying attention to them, more focused on his magazine. Overall, it offers a perhaps mildly interesting take on the generic yakuza look. When Akira follows him in, he reaches a similar conclusion, based on the furrow of his eyebrows.

The man flips a page of his magazine, and Yusuke watches as Akira looks back over consideringly at the sound. His brother takes a step that echoes loudly, even over the music playing, and the cashier flicks a glance up before returning to his reading. A tension that Yusuke hadn’t even noticed was there leaves Akira in a slump of his shoulders.

“What model gun did you say you had?” Akira turns back to Yusuke, even though he already knows and has likely already researched each weapon the Thieves had admitted to using.

“I have an AR-M4 replica.”

“Mm. Well, there are a lot of better options, then...” Akira walks along the displays like he’s been there dozens of times, pointing out different models and spouting numbers to go with them. They decide to get some sort of body armor vest as well, after Akira takes one look at it and asks if he already has one.

“That looks like it would be more of a hindrance than a help,” It’s bulky and looks heavy.

“Maybe it’ll change,” Akira replies, lip quirking up, “It’ll be an experiment. It’s just armor, after all.”

When they return to the counter, they haven’t seen a single blade more than a foot long.

“Hey,” Akira starts, much more casual than he usually is to strangers, “Do you have swords?”

The cashier doesn’t look up. “They don’t sell as well. Why do you want a sword, kid?”

“Why do people buy model guns?”

“They cost a lot. You sure you can pay?”

“I wouldn’t come to a model gun shop if I couldn’t buy model guns. Do the swords cost much more? You’re right, that would be pretty bad for business.”

A huff. “Fine. Whaddya want?”

“What do you have for katanas?”

Yusuke gets a very nice-looking new katana, with a plastic blade sharp and strong enough that it could probably cut something even though it isn’t actually metal. Akira produces an old easel case from his empty bag, one that he’d only used once because it was an awkward size and kept because he’d simply forgotten about it. It’s the perfect size for his new sword, however, and Yusuke wonders how he hadn’t thought of it himself.

Akira pushes the model gun’s box into his bag, along with the body armor and a paper bag the man had offered as a welcoming gift. They leave Untouchable with inconspicuous bags slung over their shoulders and a feeling of satisfaction in the set of their shoulders.

“I think this will help,” Yusuke says when they’ve left the alleyway. He’s already certain that his new sword will work much better than his old one.

“Yeah,” Akira replies, “Thanks.”

“Of course.”


	26. Let's Go

“Okay, Futaba. Do you want to try everyone at once or one at a time?” Akira’s inside the Sakura residence for the first time in his life, alone in front of Futaba’s door. The others are waiting downstairs.

“L-let’s... try you first?” The familiar voice squeaks, muffled by the thick armor between them.

They’ve never met each other in person before. Futaba’s probably checked his school records and public appearances and knows exactly what he looks like, but Akira has no idea what Futaba looks like. He’s kind of excited, even though the reason that they have to do this is nothing to be excited about.

“Okay.”

The door cracks open slowly, revealing a room messier than Yusuke’s and a computer setup way nicer than his own. There’s no sign of anyone inside.

“...Futaba?”

There’s a little thunk from behind the door. “Hrrgg...”

Akira takes a step into the room. A ribbon of orange falls from behind the door, swaying.

“Uh...”

“OKAY! Okay, okay, I can do this,” the door declares, “Okay.” And then out jumps an orange blur. “Hi!”

Futaba’s a head shorter than Akira, long orange hair flying everywhere and wide eyes behind big glasses looking up at him.

He’s sure his own eyes are just as wide.

So this is his sister.

Akira smiles. “Hi, Futaba. Nice to meet you.”

It’s hard to see in the dark, with the only light coming from the monitors behind them, but he thinks maybe Futaba smiles as well.

“Y-yeah.” She heaves a long breath and clenches her fists. “Okay! Let’s do this! That wasn’t so bad. Let’s... let’s do the rest all at once!”

“Are-are you sure?”

“Yeah!” Futaba grins, “You’re here too, so it’ll be fine!” Blindsided, Akira just nods. Then he calls for the others.

“Are you ready, Sakura-san?” Niijima-san asks from just outside the door. They’re anything but quiet, shifting arms and shuffling feet crowded in the hallway, the occasional whisper.

The door’s already half open. “D-do it!” Futaba calls, clinging suddenly to Akira’s arm. Still smiling, Akira uses it to drag her out into the open from behind the door.

There are suddenly six people and a cat crowded into Futaba’s not-so-huge room. Akira’s starting to sympathize with her. Sakamoto hands Futaba a red and black card that Akira can’t even read in this lighting, but Futaba apparently can. She mumbles out something dramatic-sounding at the speed of light, then asks, “Is that it?”

“Yup! We’ll steal your heart in no time!” Takamaki assures, hands on her hips. 

“Okay. Here we go,” Sakamoto says abruptly, doing something on his phone, “Aaand... clicky.”

_“Beginning navigation.”_

“What,” Is all Akira manages to get out before everything goes red. The world turns sideways.

“—you can’t just do that! What if it dragged someone else in? You have to be more care—” 

“What,” Akira says again after he recovers, inexplicably ankle-deep in sand.

And wow, it is hot here.

“Akira!?”

“Yeah, hi,” He looks around. Giant pyramid in front of him, never-ending expanse of desert behind him, he thinks he knows where this is. Even if it feels pretty impossible. He’s not sure pocket dimensions, among other things, will ever really make sense to him. “So this is Futaba’s—wait, so I got dragged in, right?”

Panicked nods.

“Then... Why didn’t Futaba? She was literally holding on to me.” He hopes she’s okay after his sudden disappearance. It is very, very difficult to think in this heat. But he’s pretty sure that Futaba had been grabbing his arm.

“Um... maybe because she’s the palace ruler?” Says a high-pitched voice he has never heard before, “I’m not sure. Oh, here.”

“Uhh...” He’s still getting past the light difference, near-darkness in Futaba’s room to the bright sun here, but there’s what looks like a cartoon animal shoving a bracelet at him. “Who—”

“Oh, I’m Mona! Hahaha, everyone’s always surprised when they see my true form. So, what do you think?”

Wow, nothing makes sense anymore.

Akira’s just going to... go with it. “That... explains the talking thing, I guess. And the... doing everything that usually requires opposable thumbs, thing.” Mona’s still looking at him expectantly with his wide cartoonish eyes, “It’s... impressive.”

“Why thank you!” Mona pushes the bracelet into his hand, “Here. Put this on, it’ll help.”

“What—oh.” It’s his ‘Chill Beads’. Right, he had made an extra set of those, hadn’t he? They’re just hundred-yen bracelets he drew on in sharpie after half of a breakdown. Did they actually work?

Yusuke had said they had.

“Yo Mona, why are you givin’ him gear? Let’s just get him out of here real quick.”

He slips it on, and he can think again. It really, really helps. Futaba’s a genius for this, seriously.

“I would, but we can’t. Futaba must know too much about the process of stealing hearts. The shock factor is already starting to fade, and the whole palace feels like it’ll collapse if someone leaves before we take the treasure!”

“What!?”

“Is that bad for us?”

“Not as long as we get the treasure and don’t try to leave before then. We’ll have to take Akira with us. It’s not safe to leave him here.”

It’s a little annoying that they’re talking like he isn’t there, but, “I would have insisted on coming along anyways. I want to see if I can help, now that I’m here. I know Futaba better than you guys anyways, so...”

The Phantom Thieves exchange awkward looks that Akira can properly see now that his eyes have adjusted.

“Well, you have to come now, regardless. Try to stay in the middle of the group, and if there’s a fight, stay out of the way.” Niiji—Queen commands. Akira nods. “Okay. Everyone, let’s go.”

They all take off sprinting towards the side of the pyramid, and Akira, not expecting that, blinks dumbly before having to catch up. They vault up the giant bricks with ease and haul him up after them with no seeming effort. He’s really not sure how they’re making those jumps. They look inhuman.

Akira barely keeps up, even after they slip through a hole in the wall and have to sneak past hulking mummy-guard things. They race through corridors, crawl through ancient Egyptian vents, run over thousand-year-old scaffolding, and generally just show Akira how out of shape he is.

And how useless he is.

He gets the awkward looks, now, because declaring that he wanted to help just because he knew Futaba better was maybe the stupidest thing he could have done. Knowing her well doesn’t mean anything here, no matter what the cognitive psience had implied. He’s just slowing them all down in the most important phase of stealing Futaba’s heart.

There aren’t any fights. They successfully sneak past each and every guard on their route, probably saving them a lot of time. Not that Akira’s any help with that.

They pass a few murals on walls that give him pause—there’s one with a woman falling into traffic while an ancient Egyptian-styled Futaba sobs in the background, and another with a little Futaba tugging at the woman’s clothes. The first one is obvious, but he’s not confident on the meaning of the second. The others run past them without hesitation.

“This is it,” Mona says when they stop in the middle of a wide hallway. The Phantom Thieves stand casually. Akira leans against the wall, panting. There’s nothing here. “This is where Futaba’s door was last time. We’re in.”

“Yes.” Yusu—Fox agrees. “Thank you for your help so far,” He then says, turning to a dark splotch on the wall, which swirls into a quick message that Akira doesn’t get the chance to read. “Alright. Yes, we will.” The black disappears.

“Aw, too bad,” Taka—Panther says, watching the exchange. “He can’t help us any further, huh?”

“Well, it makes sense,” Mona states, and that’s it. Nobody explains what just happened.

“Uh, who was that?”

“Oh, that was Joker!” Akira nearly misses a step as they start to walk again, “Futaba’s cognition of you! He was helping us with shortcuts through the pyramid. Kinda like you did in real life.” His steps don’t falter. If his face blanks just a bit, nobody notices. They never do.

“Ah.”

So even his cognition was more helpful than he was. While cognitive Joker was leading the Phantom Thieves through a dangerous pocket dimension filled with materialized shreds of human emotion to help save his sister’s sanity and possibly also her life, Akira had been sitting in his tiny dorm room listening to Futaba break down from hallucinations and _doing nothing._

He is so. Utterly. _Useless._

He wishes he could help for even a moment, finally be worth more than nothing and actually do something for the people he cares so much about, but even just thinking that gives him a headache now. What is he supposed to do if they have to fight Futaba’s shadow? Yell his pointless platitudes at it until it goes to sleep?

“We’re close, I can smell it!”

“Okay, be on guard everyone. We don’t know what kind of security she’ll have here.”

The Thieves do _something,_ and suddenly their footsteps just don’t exist. Their circus of bright colours dims in the shadows. The chrome parts of their costumes simply stop reflecting light. Akira kind of awkwardly sticks to one side of the wall as they creep along, close but not touching to avoid his clothes making more sound.

Akira’s pretty sure that something extra is going on here, now. He knows how to walk quietly, but a complete absence of sound altogether is just unnatural. If something like that was possible in the real world, he thinks he would have learned how by now.

“Okay,” Mona hisses, “Here it is.”

The room opens up to... not much. There’s a big box in the middle, surrounded by glowing light, but that’s it. No mummies, no decorations, no chains or locks or anything. Just a box. It isn’t even a fancy sarcophagus.

“Not what I was expecting. This is the treasure?” Saka—Skull straightens up, walking over.

“Yes. Whatever it is, it’s in that box.”

“Ooooh, treeaasuureee!”

“Okay, let’s see what’s inside. And—” Sa—Skull braces his hands on the side of the lid and pushes. It barely moves a few inches, not helped by Mona, who is practically on top of the thing. “Wow, that’s heavier than I thought. Just, try again—" Fox moves over to help, and together they shove the slab of stone to the ground. “There—uh...”

“What is it? What’s the treasure?”

“There’s nothing in here,” Yu—Fox leans over the box, “Is the treasure perhaps the box itself?”

“What!?”

“No, there’s—it’s not the box, I’m sure of it! There’s gotta be something inside, come on!” Mona leaps up from the fallen lid, hanging onto the edge desperately. Ta—Panther and Queen run up to check beside him. Curious, Akira follows.

“There really is nothing...”

“Then where’s the treasure?”

“What do we do now?”

_SKRTCH._

Akira blinks.

_SKKRRCHHH._

There’s a sound like pebbles falling. Akira looks up.

_**SSSKKRRRRKKKKK.** _

“Uh, guys—”

 _ **SSSKKKKRRRRR “RRAAAAAAAHHHH,**_ WHO DARES DISTURB THE PHARAOH’S SLUMBER!?”

Full blocks of the pyramid above them are violently pulled out, shaking dust down on Akira and the Thieves. It makes it hard to see, but all there is to see is a huge eye suddenly appearing in the new hole in the ceiling.

“FUUUTAAABBBAAAA...”

“What is that!?”

“It’s not a shadow!”

“What!?”

“What is it then!?”

“FFUUUUUUUUTTAAAAAAAAAAABBBBBAAAAAAAAAAA...”

When the eye pulls away, something huge blots out the little sky that Akira can see, sweeping back and forth to a cacophony of screams. There’s too much noise to comprehend, just yelling and explosions and avalanches and roaring. Stone flies everywhere, sand and dust too thick to see anyone else.

“FUUUUUUTTTTAAAAABBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”

Akira just crouches, hands over his head. There’s too much chaos to try to do anything.

“NOBODY MAY REMOVE THE PHARAOH FROM HER TOMB!”

“If it’s not a shadow, what is it!?”

“DO NOT APPROACH THE PHARAOH LEST MISFORTUNE FALL UPON YOU ALL!!”

“It’s a cognition!”

“Futaba made a cognition this huge!?”

Eventually, the mayhem calms. The pyramid’s bricks are all blown away, leaving them on a free platform at the mercy of the cognition’s wingbeats. When Akira gets a good look at the sphinx after being nearly blown away, he realizes it’s the same face as the one on the murals. Isshiki Wakaba. It makes too much sense that Futaba’s mother would be so powerful here, considering how powerful her—probably fake—memory is in the real world too.

“THE PHARAOH MUST REMAIN IN HER TOMB!! SHE MUST SUFFER THE WAY SHE DESERVES TO!!”

“She does _not_ deserve _any_ of it,” Akira mutters spitefully as the cognition keeps going on about the pharaoh causing misfortune and deserving to suffer.

“Alright everyone!” Queen shouts, “It flies! Try bullets first, then we’ll check the other elements!”

“Got it!”

“Yup!”

“Let’s do this!”

“Okay!”

There’s nowhere to hide, really, and Wakaba’s cognition flies around the entire platform to attack from all angles. Akira just tries to... stay out of the Thieves’ way as they pull out guns and swords and shoot out magic fire.

He’s so useless.

Wakaba’s cognition gives up on the taunts and the insults to Futaba and reverts to enraged roaring as the Thieves throw an entire magical arsenal at it. Suddenly, it shoots up into the sky.

“Woah!”

“Hey, when’s it coming down?”

“I can’t tell! It’s too far up!”

“What!? Well then what are you good for!?”

“Hey, there are some things even I can’t do!”

They wait in total silence. The wind doesn’t even blow anymore, waiting in anticipation with them for the giant cognition to fall. There’s no telling when it’ll come back down, but the tension in the air is telling as to what it will do.

A corrupted shriek pierces the air, becoming infinitely louder before it crashes down into the pyramid. A cloud of dust billows up, and Akira can’t tell who the target was.

“Fox!”


	27. Ask For It

“Fox, are you okay!?”

“With a hit that strong—”

Wait, Yusuke—

“I’m fine!” The cognition leaps back into the air, the resulting gust of wind blowing away the dust to show an upright Fox. “I had armor. See?” He knocks at his chest, making a dull thunking sound, “Thanks to Akira.”

The others probably turn to stare at him, but Akira is still stuck on Yusuke. “You’re all getting that armor when this is over,” he says blankly, and kind of wonders when the other Thieves started mattering to him too.

“Fox is good!” Queen announces, waving an arm, “Let’s keep going! We have to beat this cognition!” The others cheer in agreement, but Akira can tell they’re getting tired. He doesn’t know how their fights usually go, but this battle of attrition doesn’t seem like something they’re used to. Wakaba’s cognition doesn’t even look scratched.

He wishes he could help.

“Urghh—okay, let’s do this!” Skull unleashes some sort of lightning that hits with perfect accuracy, but it seems weaker than before. The cognition doesn’t even flinch.

The rest of the Thieves shoot out similar attacks, but again, there’s no visible damage. Nothing’s... happening.

There’s a shuffling sound he just barely hears as Panther pulls her submachine gun back out to try filling the cognition with lead, but the next sound is clear as day between one gunshot and the next.

“Woah...”

Terror shoots through him. “Futaba?”

“So they do shoot real bullets! What are they shooting at?”

“Futaba what are you doing here—”

“FFUUUUUTTAAAAAAAAAAABBBBBAAAAAAAAAA!!” Akira is given front row seats as Futaba’s expression melts from wide-eyed curiosity to wide-eyed horror. “YOUUU RUINED MEEEEE!!”

“M-mom...”

“YOUUU WERE A WASSSTE OF TIIIIME!! IIIII WISH YOU HAD NEVERRR BEEN BORN!!”

“...No...” Futaba falls to her knees, hands over her ears. Akira’s never seen her do that, but he immediately knows where it’s from.

Akira is tired of this stupid cognition. He’s dealt with her here and in the real world, and Futaba’s still suffering because of it. The way Boss had spoken of Isshiki Wakaba, this cognition is nothing like her.

“...Futaba, that’s not real, and you know that! That isn’t your mother. She wouldn’t have taken care of you if she didn’t want you!”

“I’m a murderer...”

“No, you’re not.”

“It was my fault...”

“It was never your fault, Futaba.” Akira starts slipping into his track of repetitive but nevertheless true platitudes, and he curses himself. If it hadn’t helped then, why would it help now? “You’re not a monster.”

Futaba raises her head just a bit, turning towards him. But then— “It’s my fault she died...”

“THAAT’SSSS RIGHT!! YOU KIIILLLLED MEEEEE!!!”

_“It is not your fault.”_ Akira says it severely, for once. “It was _never_ your fault, Futaba. And _you,_ ” he directs a glare to the stupid cognition, the thing causing the Thieves so much trouble and tormenting Futaba for years, who’d abandoned its distance advantage just to get nearer to Futaba, “don't deserve to have a mouth to scream from. You're a ridiculous, pointless cognition with nothing worth paying attention to and you can just _shut up._ ”

His short tirade is then aptly punctuated by Fox unloading a full clip into the sphinx’s now very close up face.

He’s thankful for the help, really, but it feels lame. He hadn’t really even said anything of substance, let alone a decent insult. He’d like to have said much, much more, but he doesn’t want to risk Futaba taking it the wrong way. He’d had to be so careful about what he said during her past hallucinations.

“...Akira?”

“Futaba?” But Futaba’s still talking.

“Akira always said... it wasn’t my fault. The suicide... I believed it because of the note. But it... wasn’t anything like how mom was...”

“YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A DEMON THAT STOOD IN MY WAY!!” Akira doesn’t say a word, too focused on his sister. He has no idea what the Phantom Thieves are doing right now, and it doesn’t matter.

“It was a lie... I’m not a murderer. It wasn’t my fault.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!! THERE’S NO MEANING TO YOUR LIFE!! NO ONE NEEDS YOU!!”

“I’m not a monster. I don’t deserve to die. I knew, but I...”

“IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!! THIS TIME, YOU’LL BE THE ONE TO—” Akira turns to tell the cognition to shut up again, but someone else gets to it first.

“Shut up!” Futaba jumps to her feet, “It wasn’t my fault! I’m not going to believe those lies any longer! You’re just a fake they made up! I’ll never forgive them!”

Moments later, she’s up in a glowing eldritch UFO.

“Wha—Futaba!?” The UFO whirrs, with that slight feeling of otherness that emanates from the Thieves’ personas. But those personas never ate their owners.

_“Contract... I am thou, thou art I...”_

“I’m okay!” Comes from the UFO, but Akira isn’t reassured. Futaba still sounds overwhelmed and a little frantic.

“Look at that...” Mona marvels. Akira just wants to know if she’s really okay. She didn’t rip off a mask or anything, so how does she have a persona? Did something go wrong?

“This thing can’t stay! But it’s my world, so I can hack it! Let’s go, guys!” Her UFO beams an old-fashioned ballista into existence, “Shoot ‘er down!”

Akira races over, eager to help, but, “Couldn’t you have made something more modern!?”

“No internet connection! Local world blocks only, sorry! Can’t import!” It makes sense, in the same way everything else here does. Still, it’s a shame she couldn’t have just given him a laser cannon or something.

The ballista is surprisingly easy to maneuver, for what is basically an ancient Egyptian crossbow five times his size. But the sphinx just keeps moving. The others are still whaling on it, but by the time he manages to get a clean shot into its side, they’re looking even more exhausted than they had before. He can’t even do this right.

The cognition tumbles into the side of the pyramid, wings slamming into the bricks in an attempt to return to the air. But Akira did, at least, hit the right spot. The shaft of the bolt sticking out of the sphinx’s side rams into its wing every time it flaps, leaving it flailing in an attempt to right itself without a proper range of movement. 

Fox freezes the shaft with large, sharp chunks of ice right before Skull helps his pirate persona slam the bolt deeper into the cognition’s side, bringing the ice with it. The ice cuts deep, and the sphinx howls.

Panther turns away from her whip for a moment to set the shaft on fire at Queen’s command. It melts the ice and, from the sound of water steaming and the cognition shrieking, heats the water and possibly also the metal arrowhead inside the wound to a painful degree.

It’s incredibly effective and an impressive display of teamwork, but if this is how brutal they regularly have to be in order to survive fights like these, he can only hope for their sake that they never have to fight anyone humanoid.

It’s a little scary.

Wakaba’s cognition shoots to its feet the moment the bolt’s shaft burns to ashes. Instead of taking off again, it pounces towards the ballista.

“Akira!” He stumbles away, but the ballista is on the edge of the platform. There’s nowhere to go, and he’s too shellshocked to move much anyways.

But the sphinx doesn’t go for the ballista, or Akira. It goes for the UFO hovering behind it.

“FUTABA!! HOW DARE YOU!!”

“FUTABA!” Akira yells after her. Futaba shrieks as her persona jerks out of the sphinx’s reach. Its wings flap frantically, pushing the Thieves down and throwing Akira back into the mount of the ballista.

There’s a second jolt he feels after he slams hard into the wooden pillar, which then reveals itself as the feeling of the ballista misfiring into the cognition’s leg with a pained animal scream from the sphinx.

“CHILDREN WHO DISOBEY THEIR MOTHERS... S-SHOULD...” Wakaba’s cognition crashes into the top of the pyramid, smashing into several of the sluggish Thieves as it lands. Its body covers most of the platform that had been the battlefield thus far, and soon the rest of the Phantom Thieves are down, too.

Futaba babbles in alarm, calling for them to get up. They don’t.

Half of them are crushed beneath the sphinx, where Akira can’t even see them. The others are pinned by errant limbs or being constantly buffeted by heavy winds, and looking at how injured and exhausted they are, they wouldn’t be getting up even if they could. Akira’s only protected from a similar fate by his distance from them and the cover of the ballista. It’s still a challenge to stay upright.

He’s the only one who could possibly do something right now, and yet he can’t. He’s useless, just like always.

_Are you?_

“G-guys!? Are you okay!? P-please, say something!”

Wakaba’s cognition stumbles back up, revealing unmoving Thieves. Akira eyes an unconscious Yusuke, flat on his back with his mask skewed to the side.

Yusuke had said that they always won the battle. If they didn’t, they could retreat and try again. They were in danger, but nothing ever too serious. They could handle themselves.

This clearly isn’t a battle, though.

It’s a slaughter.

_Can you do nothing? Are you just going to watch?_

“Um, uh, healing! I can do that! Heal, heal, come on, heal...” The Thieves start to glow with a gentle green light, but it cuts off abruptly when the sphinx Wakaba lunges into the air, clipping Futaba’s persona with a claw and sending it spinning out of control. “My systems! I can’t—”

“YOU USELESS CHILD!! JUST DIE!!”

“Futaba!” Akira abandons the ballista to look over the side. Her UFO is stranded on the bricks halfway down the pyramid, lights sputtering and crackling with static. “Are you okay!?”

“I-I’m fine! I just can’t do anything! I’m stuck!” He tries to breathe a sigh of relief, but it catches in his throat and chokes him. There’s no one to fight this monster. They’re all going to die, and he’s just sitting here, useless.

Like always.

_So you’re going to do nothing? You’ll just sit back and watch your family and their allies perish?_

He can never help. He’s worthless. Powerless.

_Their decision to free you from your past slaver was a mistake then? Calling for aid to save her life, your own mistake? Supporting him over the years, a mistake? Were they not worth the effort?_

Yusuke and Futaba had been worth everything he could give them and more. The Phantom Thieves, here and now, are worth everything he can give them to save their lives.

_Then why do you hesitate?_

It’s just that... there’s nothing to give them.

The ballista has no ammunition. He doesn’t have any weapons, and what would those do against something like that, anyways?

He’s not just giving up, but...

_Again and again you have been beaten down by those more powerful than you, eclipsed by human greed or by simple circumstance._

_But you also have your own strength._

_Will you ignore it, when you can use it?_

“I...”

Wakaba’s cognition, the monster that had plagued his sister’s mind for years, hovers in the air above the pyramid. It rises higher into the air, clearly preparing for its devastating wing attack. If something like that hit Futaba in her wrecked UFO, it could kill her.

His sister could die in the next few seconds.

That can’t happen.

_“Very well,”_ says the foreign voice in his head that he only partly notices, _“Prove your resolve.”_

Eyes still fixed on the sphinx, he reaches up to his face.

_“I am thou, thou art I.”_

It hurts, turns the world white with a vicious tearing sound and Akira learns what pain really, truly is, but that doesn’t matter. The tears of agony falling down his face don’t matter.

_“Break open the bars of thy cage, and seize the strength of thy power for thyself!”_

The mask comes off.

_“Call upon my name, and release thy rage!”_

“ARSENE!”

A red blur collides with Wakaba’s cognition, burning blue and red-black fire. The monster screeches, soaring away from the pyramid at the impact. It tumbles out of the air, rolling and bouncing down the slope of the destroyed tomb. When it lands at the bottom, it doesn’t get up again.

Akira stands there for a moment, drained.

Then— “Futaba!”

Somehow, he makes it down to Futaba in seconds. Laying a hand on the crumpled machine results in a healing glow, and soon engines are whirring back to life, but there’s no response from Futaba.

“Futaba? Can you hear me?”

“...Akira?”

“Yeah, yeah, are you okay?”

“...You have a persona.”

“Yeah, I do. But are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, totally, and you’re fixing up Necronomicon pretty good right now. Guess I just passed out for a sec there. Did... did we beat it?”

Necronomicon. So that’s what its name is. “Yeah, I... it just needed one last hit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Silence. “Then, that’s... GG, I guess. Are you okay?”

The green glow fades away, and Necronomicon floats up into the air. “Yeah. I’m fine. We should... the others.” Yusuke.

“Good.” Futaba says decisively, then, “Let’s go get the others back up, then! Come on, time for a trip!” Necronomicon wraps a tentacle around his waist, bringing him back up to the top of the pyramid. “Get Mona! He’s the healer, I think.”

“He is, yeah.” Akira stumbles over to the cartoon cat, unconscious just like the rest of them are. It’s harder to see him as comical when he’s like this.

He crouches, puts a hand on him and—he thinks it’s called diarama? The word just comes to him. Either way, Mona glows, and soon enough all of his scratches and bruises and other wounds are gone. It only takes a couple shakes to wake him up.

“...Akira? Did I get knocked out?” Mona stands up, and since that doesn’t really do anything for his height, Akira just stays crouched.

“Yeah. Wakaba’s cognition fell on you. It would have been quick.”

“What happened? Hey, your clothes changed! Do you have a persona now!?”

“Uh, yeah,” Akira says, bone tired, “Arsene.” Arsene’s still right behind him. He can feel it. He wonders how Mona didn’t see him right away. He’s probably just as tired as Akira is, despite the healing.

“Woah! That’s awesome!” Mona bounces once, and then visibly decides against doing it again. Then he finally looks around.

Futaba is doing her best to heal the others, but from what Akira suddenly has the ability to recognize, the healing is slow-going. Her specialty is widespread effects and recovery, not the stronger single-target abilities he has. The other Thieves are maybe halfway healed by now, but not enough to wake them up.

“Wow, nearly a full wipe.” Mona observes, suddenly serious, “If you and Futaba hadn’t awakened... I’ll get Queen. She can heal too. You start on the rest.”

Akira stands wordlessly and scans the remaining Thieves. His eye catches on Yusuke. Fox.

The armor hadn’t ended up doing as much good as they’d first thought.

When Yusuke is finished healing, he sits up and hugs Akira immediately. It takes a moment for him to hug back.

“We can take our time leaving,” Mona’s voice carries over the small platform that had served as a battlefield and nearly a grave, “Futaba was the treasure. As long as she doesn’t leave ahead of us, the palace won’t collapse on us.”

“Alright,” a newly revived Skull drags his feet to sit in the center. After a minute, the rest of them make their way there as well. “So what happened while I was out?”

Later, after they all leave Futaba’s palace, leaving Futaba passed out in her bed with a short explanation texted to Boss, Yusuke and Akira lean on each other as they walk back to the Kosei dorms. Akira is starting to realize just how exhausting awakening to a persona is, and Yusuke’s healing had only healed his wounds, not restored his energy. But they both have experience working through exhaustion.

“So what really happened?” Yusuke asks under his breath, and Akira just blinks tiredly.

“You were all going to die, and there was nobody else.” He says simply. It doesn’t really explain anything.

But Yusuke gets it. “I see. I’m glad.”

They stay in the same room that night, basking in the fact that they have the power to do that now, and that they're still alive to do it.


End file.
